The Lord and His Locks II by Armando94

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That shower was the first of many over the course of the next couple weeks. Carl quickly managed to make himself well known in the household, and especially in the company of the little Lord Malcolm. For he only had eyes for the latest addition to the household staff, who became like his own personal equerry. Although, that sort of role did not anticipate the companion to be such as Carl’s duties became. That being there in the morning to join Malcolm for breakfast (if Carl hadn’t already spent the night) as well as accompanying Malcolm on his now daily ride and "swim". All of this followed by their afternoon tea, after the two of them had finished showering and playing with each other, and Carl got to "play" with Malcolm’s hair.

"You do it so well, better than any of those other pathetic ones," Malcolm laughed.

"Thank you, sir," Carl was thrilled that Malcolm couldn’t see the detest in his look. The one thing Carl had to get used to was truly how much of a brat Malcolm was. It was in fact mind blowing. But, Carl wasn’t going to say no to the pleasures he was getting out of all this. Not just carnally with the spoiled one, but the benefits of working in the household in this capacity. He knew if he did his job well, there’d be room for promotion, perhaps elevation to work even elsewhere, a much grander estate. Maybe even for a Duke! Carl was not up to his ears in the posh-lifestyle though, he only saw that if he wanted to be a continued success, the only way was up.

He knew he’d get nowhere fast with Malcolm, in more ways than one. Carl wasn’t turning down any chance to fool around with him, at least twice a day if not more. He just hoped this would all be worth it in the end. Become a great recommendation for elsewhere…as well as the other things he was plotting. Especially plotting every afternoon, as he went through the rinse and repeat routine of the little lord’s locks. They truly were beautiful, he had to admit. Only made better by his hands. His man-hands as Malcolm liked to call them. Much rougher and tougher than any other staff before. Malcolm didn’t hesitate to restrain his glee and ecstasy when Carl scratched and shampooed his scalp. Or when Carl slowly stroked a brush from root to stem of the hair. Sometimes, once it was all done, the hair blown out, Malcolm remained naked and let his hair fall across his shoulders, and around his body. And Carl would bring him in close to an embrace, and they’d sit like that for another good hour, Carl’s fingertips grazing Malcolm’s scalp some more, or nuzzling his face into Malcolm’s locks, sending a tickling sensation all over his body.

Malcolm’s parents were hosting a party that coming weekend, and Malcolm really wanted Carl to attend. In fact, Malcolm only wanted to attend if Carl could be beside him the whole night. His parents did not care too much about their son’s desires, so they didn’t bat an eye when this came as a request. They’d already heard the positive reviews on the new member of staff and so had nothing to fear. When Carl had the news broken to him, he was not as thrilled as he thought he’d be. He’d be mixing with potential future bosses. But the thought he had to wait hand and foot, in front of strangers, on Malcolm…something didn’t settle right with him. He started to wonder if he’d gotten too deep into this. How pathetic he’d look, standing next to that sissy boy all night, acting as his pet. They weren’t even boyfriends, technically!

But this was seen as a work obligation, so Carl would do his duty. Malcolm even said he could stay over that night before, and for the rest of the weekend if he’d like. Since that would be the case, he asked leave to be a little late on that Friday morning, ahead of the ball the next day. He would miss breakfast with Malcolm, but it was going to be worth it. He needed to pay a trip to his uncle’s to get freshened up. It had been a bit over two weeks, so he was definitely due a haircut. And now with the big wig party this weekend, he needed to look his best.

As his uncle used the foil shaver around the back and sides of his head, that same sweet smell coming off his skin, Carl asked, "Say, do you have any tools you aren’t using?"

"Tools? You mean for barbering?"

"Nah, for the meth lab you’re growin in the back. Yes, for barbering."

"Ay, ‘spose I do. What for?"

Carl looked dead into the mirror, eyes like ice, as he said, "The Earl and Countess are having a ball this weekend. And their youngest son is looking to have a new haircut."

"Yer not sendin him tah me?"

"He has…trust issues," Carl smiled. He proceeded to tell his uncle also about how rude Malcolm can be, about other staff. But he trusts Carl more than anyone. "I think he’d take more lightly to me cutting his hair."

"Think ya can manage it?"

"Yes," Carl smiled again, "Actually, I don’t think this particular cut will be too difficult…he’s looking for something, shall we say, low maintenance?"

Before Carl left his uncle’s shop, they went into the back where he gave them a few old supplies. Old but still in incredible shape, and they’d certainly be enough. It was either this or Carl was willing to sneak into the farm at work and steal some of the sheep sheers. That would really get to Malcolm!

When Carl finally arrived at work, Malcolm complained about "where have you been!", completely forgetting Carl had said, at least ten times the day before, he’d be late. Carl thought to himself this is exactly why he is going to be proceeding with his little plan. There day went about as it usually did, Carl serving as an ear for Malcolm’s complaints and jibes at others. All the while, he kept his thoughts to himself, knowing it would all be worth it by the end of the night…


Malcolm was surprised by how energized Carl was this afternoon on their horse ride, and then in the lake, more than usual! Not that Malcolm was complaining, but it did tire him out. He felt like he needed a nap by the time they got back to the big house, later than usual. The fun didn’t stop when they got to the shower, Malcolm even allowed himself to really graze his hands all along Carl’s recently shorn nape. Oh, how good it felt, how he was so thrilled to find that this was what had kept Carl late getting here this morning. Carl was going to look absolutely perfect tomorrow at the ball…no, they BOTH were going to! Malcolm couldn’t wait for it, the beauty of them both, contrasting yet complimenting.

As Malcolm sat in his usual chair, now anticipating the hair wash and dry, he felt as if he could fall asleep. Which he believed he did, for what could have been seconds or hours. Carl didn’t follow after him immediately from the shower. But when Malcolm came to his senses, he found he was naked and…tied to the chair?! He lifted his head up, and couldn’t get his body free, he started to pant, holding back his screams, unsure of what had happened. Was he being kidnapped? Had Carl been killed? Was there a murderer lurking about?

Suddenly, he heard the crack of fabric, and very gently, a pinstripe cape floated before him, and covered his body. He had no idea what was going on, was he going into surgery? Then he felt the cape snugged tightly around his neck, with some itchy tissue paper like thing to hold it all into place. Malcolm panted out of desperation, completely unsure of what was happening.

Then, Carl slowly stepped in front of him, his gorgeous shirtless self, nothing but a clean pair of white briefs on, his bulge on full display, slightly putting Malcolm at ease. But the menacing look in his face…that was something new. His eyes suddenly seemed much darker, and not because of the bare minimal natural light peeking through the curtains. When Carl finally spoke, his tone was definitely new too. "I’ve been good to you. Too good to you. Other staff has been, as well, before me. And yet you treat us all like scum of the earth. Have you noticed?"

Malcolm still was speechless, really unsure where this all came from.

When Malcolm could only sputter back, Carl continued, "Of course you haven’t. You think we are all your little pets, to be played with," Carl then stepped closer to Malcolm, reaching a hand out, and tossing it through Malcolm’s long locks that were flowing this way and that. "Its about time one of us had the chance to play with you."

Carl moved behind Malcolm, making him virtually invisible. Malcolm got the energy to muster, "W-what are y-you going to do? We have the b-b-ball soon."

Carl let out a cackle. "Oh yes, that. Another little game of yours, so I can be waiting on you hand and foot. Your pet once again. No, I don’t think so."

Malcolm was still completely unsure what was going on, so he grunted, and exclaimed, "Fine, don’t go if you don’t want to. Like I care."

"Oh," Carl cooly responded. "Oh, I’m going. I’m just not going to attend with you on my arm…looking like this," and with a sudden burst of energy, he yanked on Malcom’s mane. Malcolm could feel it at his roots, rushing pain through to his brain even! He did not like this sensation, no one had ever treated him like this. Then, he felt Carl’s rough hands gather a clump of his hair, holding it back tight. The force made Malcolm almost levitate in the chair, completely alert. He became even more alert at the following sensation: he heard what sounded like metal scraping against metal. This was all shaping up to be like a horror film. And then, a coldness that Malcolm could feel through his hair strands, every single individual strand. Followed by a vicious gnashing sound. Crunch after crunch, Malcolm strained his neck until it felt like Carl had finally let go. But then, the massacre was dumped right onto of his lap, long strands of his hair.

Malcolm gawked in surprise, made strange sounds and felt his eyes grow wet. Just as Carl pulled at his head again, another section, and cut through that one like a knife through soft butter. Malcolm’s soft locks, like hay, rained down onto his lap, to join the rest that had been severed. On and on this continued, Carl hacking away at different sections, until all the long bits had been cut. He heard Carl strike down the shears on a nearby table, and then before he knew it, a handheld mirror was placed before his eyes. He couldn’t believe the sight before him: parts of his hair, sticking this way and that, like the worse bedhead ever. And the strands all different lengths, like a doll who’d been attacked by a child. Malcolm flicked his eyes between the sight in the mirror, and the one in his lap. All that long hair, stripped from him. Gone.

Carl slammed the mirror down, loud like the scissors. Then Malcolm felt those rough hands pass their way up the back of his head again. It wasn’t like the last couple weeks, whether in the lake or the shower or in bed, where Carl weaved his arms and fingers through Malcolm’s long tresses. Now only shorn, blunt cuts existed at the back, thanks to the demon barber’s hack job. Then Carl reached out one hand for the pile of the long hair. "Doesn’t that feel good, boy?" Carl asked, as he continued to rub and flash the long pile in Malcolm’s view. Then Carl emitted an "Oh" as he felt around the cape, cackling again, "Oh, maybe you do like it, boy."

Malcolm was frightened by what had overcome him, but at the same time, hadn’t he always wanted some man to take control of him? Maybe deep down that was why he was so controlling in the past. Always bossing others around, passive aggressive behavior. He’d been desperate for somebody to finally put him in his place.

"Well Goldilocks," Carl said. "We can’t have you going to the ball like this." He scratched Malcolm’s scalp as he said this, before slapping the side of his head. "Don’t worry, I’ll have you looking fresh in no time." And at this point, Malcolm realized he needed to surrender to this man.

He heard the click and hum of the clippers, taking in a huge gulp. The one good thing was he couldn’t see this in a mirror, it was all a surprise. But it didn’t help the heightened sensations. The hot blades found themselves at the back of his head, and without hesitation, Carl ripped right through. Malcolm felt his mouth drop open, and he couldn’t get it to close from there on out. Carl continued, no delay, going over that section again, and then over from it, leaving no hair unattended. Malcolm felt the sheaves of his hair being clipped from his scalp, a sudden coolness in the back of his head which he was sure was bare now. His eyes continued to fill with tears as Carl cleared path after path of hair, making way for his scalp and skin to show through. No talking, Carl was concentrating, and Malcolm wouldn’t have been able to find words anyways. He was catspaw in this amateur barber’s chair, and he had made this happen all because of his actions. Actions he never took account for.

Carl moved on to the left side and then the right. Malcolm felt his remaining hair fall away from his ears, exposing them. He didn’t remember them being large or small growing up, but either sight was going to be a fright. They hadn’t been exposed in a very long time. Eventually, the clippers were turned off. Malcolm felt himself relax in the chair, and even let out a little sigh.

"We’re not done yet, boy," Carl reassured him.

But before Malcolm could protest, he heard a snap, and then the clippers hummed to life once more. The sound rung in his ears as he felt the wire hit his caped shoulder. Then, they were lined up, at the front of his hairline, front and center. Yet again, with no hesitation, Carl fed them right on through. They plowed through, ripping across the last bits of long hair. Or at least, the longest bits of hair Malcolm had left, if you wanted to call it that. The purring machine reduced the blonde tresses to a quarter of an inch, unbeknownst to Malcolm, but he certainly felt it was a short buzz. At this point, tears could not leak out of his eyes. He was beyond spent, but not in other ways. This sudden vibration was liberating in a different way, and he felt himself getting hot and bothered. He couldn’t control it, with his hands still tied down, and he wished he could. And Malcolm wasn’t all that sure the pile of hair on his lap would do enough to cover his mood.

Carl did not notice if so, he continued to clear the entirety of the top of Malcom’s head to that even quarter of an inch. Finally, the clippers stopped for a brief second, only for them to be reintroduced with a comb, as Carl began to go over the difference of bare scalp, and shorn top. The sharp "Bzzt!" sounds of the machine across the plastic didn’t even scare Malcolm any more. He welcomed it, thinking this had to be the end. But when things couldn’t get any worse, they certainly did for Malcolm.

Machines done, and he heard Carl, almost stirring something. Then, a hot and soapy like substance was plastered all along his bare back and sides. It felt good, and smelled good too. Malcolm felt like he might be able to relax, even if it was all still scary. But the nightmare continued, as Carl began to gently yet deftly scrape away at the foam. Bit by bit, scratch by scratch. It was like a cat scratching its claws against a door frame. No other sound in the room, this sensation totally heightened. Soon enough, there was not a single hair on the back or sides of Malcolm’s head. Carl made sure of this, going over it not once but twice. Malcolm felt his mouth go bone dry, both at the shock and horror, and yet, a bit of anxiousness to see the result, of what the massacre had become. Before he could see any of that. Carl was blow drying him down, passing a hand across the top of his head which confirmed just how short he had gone. The stirring sensation Malcolm had to allow happen was pleased at this vibrational touch. Then he heard the shake of something, and Carl slapping his hands together, before applying what felt like peroxide all around his bare sides and back, jolting Malcolm in his seat, which earned a laugh out of Carl.

"Alright my Sleeping Beauty, you ready to see the new and improved you?" Malcolm didn’t even nod his head. Carl didn’t waste a moment, he shone the mirror back in front of him to reveal the new Lord Malcolm.

He was…stunned. How was that him? He wasn’t even blonde anymore, his hair looked much darker, shorn to this length. The little bit of hair he did have left that was. As he turned his head side to side, Malcolm saw his wet yet soft looking skin. Not even a single touch of hair having been there, the barber had scraped all memory of it away. Then Carl put the mirror down, and finally released the cape, as well as the ties that bound Malcolm in the first place. He had calmed down a bit, thankfully, as he stood up naked. Carl guided him to a full-length mirror, as they both took in his full reaction.

"So much better now," Carl couldn’t help but graze his hand across the top of Malcolm’s head, before slapping the bare back, and announcing, "You’ll get used to it."

Before they got ready for the party, Carl had his way with Malcolm, which he let him, as he was beyond belief at this point. Except Carl became a bit more of a tender lover in these moments. His gruff behavior from their fooling around in the past perhaps was all for show. He was suddenly so attentive, and very much enjoying the sensations of feeling Malcolm’s shorn head. And suddenly, Malcolm felt himself falling back in love with Carl, even after what he had done. How he stripped him of his one glory, the only pride he truly had. As they sat there, wrapped naked in furs, Carl continuing to stroke the pelt across Malcolm’s noggin, he reassured him, "It really does suit you, m’lord. I know you didn’t want it, but you needed it."

Malcolm, choked up, found himself saying, "Thank you."

Eventually they rose from bed and got ready for the ball, both of them in white tie attire. When Malcolm showed up, no one believe it was him. He was still speechless himself, so Carl consistently filled in the gaps, saying that it was time for a change. Malcolm wanted to try something new. Malcolm was silent most of the party, leaning on Carl for support. Perhaps out of fear something worse could happen, or, realizing, maybe he needed Carl all along. And to keep him by his side, no matter what. Slowly but surely, Malcolm smiled at times at the night, as he saw how charmed people were by Carl. While this might have been a severe punishment, he acknowledged it as a valuable lesson too.

When they both retired for the night to Malcolm’s room, they drifted to sleep in each other’s arms. The next morning, Malcolm was surprised to see Carl still there. He kissed him awake, which surprised Carl as well. As they got to talking, Carl admitted maybe he was a bit rash and presumptuous with how he handled things. He said he would hand in his recognition that morning, he could return to the farm work, or leave the estate entirely.

Malcolm stood up from bed and said. "No."

Carl stopped from putting his pants back on, staring up at Malcolm, who continued, "I need someone to take care of my hair, I always have. You’ve done a good job before, you’ll continue to do a good job still," he felt his shorn top, and it was certainly growing on him. "It took years of getting used to and practice with my old style, I am sure I will need to adjust to this new one. But I need you for that, and for everything else, too."

Carl couldn’t resist the sheer grin he gave, like a wolf, as he enveloped Malcolm in a bear hug and kiss, bringing him to the bed where they fooled around all day. There was certainly going to be a lot of adjusting around here. Carl wasn’t leaving, and Malcolm wasn’t going back either. And so, they remained together, on the estate, Malcolm’s parents gifting them several years later one of the follies on the estate grounds, on the eve of their intimate wedding. Carl had the opportunity to pursue his agricultural and farming pursuits on this little land and fix up the little house. Malcolm had changed, he took to riding his horse more often and helped with the stables for the main house. And, Malcolm never grew his hair out again. His husband Carl continued to fulfill his duty of taking care of his hair for many years to come.

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