The Haircut Game by Head Shaver

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Phase 1: Cruising

I hadn't given much thought to my sexuality until this point. But I was almost 18, and yearning for the experience of romance. I had heard from a gay friend about the iPhone app 'Grindr'. I had decided to give it a whirl; what's the worst that could happen?

After a few days, I sprang up conversation with a man called "dom 4 sub". In his profile he had stated that he was 35 years old, 5'11", and was rather bulky, with a shaved head and the odd tattoo here and there. We spoke on and off for a short while, and he explained to me what he looked for in a man, and what he seeked to gain from a relationship. He'd asked me to meet him, and naïve, inexperienced little me had agreed. After all, he only lived about a mile from my house, and all he claimed to want was to pick me up in his car, and share his wine with me. "What could possibly go wrong?" I now ask myself, dripping with sarcasm and regret.

Phase 2: Meeting 'dom 4 sub'

He hadn't bothered to tell me his real name, of course. He was just another gay man cruising on a hookup app.
On the night we had arranged to meet, I gussied myself up in the mirror. I had on casual clothing, and had tried to, at least, make myself look nice.
He had said a few times during our chats that he loves my hair, which was light brown, of medium thickness and hung just below my waist. I had never bothered to have it cut or styled; what was the point if you never intended to impress anyone? Oh well, this guy appeared to like it the way it is.

I checked Grindr to see whereabouts he was. I had sent him my location about an hour ago, and he had told me that he would set off to outside my home about now. There was nobody in the house except for me, so nobody would be wondering why I'd left so suddenly in a strange car. 10 minutes later, I heard a car horn from outside. I emerged from the house to see a grey car parked on the kerb. I approached it to see the man I had been waiting to meet sat in the driver's seat: bulky, bald, and inked. Definitely him. He smirked at me through the rolled down window, before a semi-aggressive "get in" coaxed me into the passenger seat.

Phase 3: A la casa del hombre.

The 10 minute drive to his house was quiet, with a few probing questions from the man, such as "are you a virgin?" and "how big is your cock?". I brushed these off, telling myself that he was joking. He started to comment on my hair again, stopping at a red light. There was no traffic as it was rather late. He reached out and touched my hair, caressing and stroking it, me being surprised at the gentle touch of this buff, tough man. "You have lovely hair, it'd be a shame if something were to happen to it" he chuckled. I chuckled along, not realising the turn that this meeting was going to make in less than an hour from now. He continued to drive.

Phase 4: Sh*t!

When we arrived outside him house, he got out first, before walking swiftly around the front of the car to open the passenger door. He silently guided me out of the car and to the front door of his house before opening the front door. He gestured for me to go in first, before coming in after me, closing the door, and notifying that nobody else was in.

He asked me if I wanted a glass of water, which I politely turned down, before offering me a seat on the sofa and promptly following suit. He switched on the TV, and we sat in silence for a short while. After about 10 minutes, I felt his fingers brushing against the side of my leg, before he slid his hand over my crotch and fondled my genitals through my jeans and underwear. It didn't take long for me to gain an erection, which made him chuckle. "What do you want to do?" I asked, in a strange mixed tone of nervousness and hidden enthusiasm
"Anything that you're comfortable with" the man replied
"Uh... I'll do anything you like"
"Are you sure?" He asked, smirking darkly
"Um, yeah, sure" I stammered.

"Get up" he ordered. I complied. "Strip". I again obeyed, first removed my sweater, before my shirt, and then my somewhat baggy jeans before removing my shoes. He sat there, tapping his foot impatiently, as I stood in his living room in nothing but my boxers and socks. I looked at him, confused and nervous. "The socks", he grunted. My- my socks? This made me twinge with self consciousness; I was never barefoot around other people. Even in my own home, I always at least had socks on. I reluctantly peeled off my socks, before standing there in just my underwear, now feeling exposed with the texture of the foreign floor, against my bare feet.

He smirked before saying "I want to play a little game".

Phase 5: Oh god...

He ordered me to stay put, as he picked up my clothing and left the room, before returning with a chair and rope. I had no idea where my clothes were, and I had a feeling I wouldn't get them back unless I complied with this man.
He put the chair in the middle of the room. "Sit" he uttered. I did as I was told. He yanked my wrists behind the wooden chair and tied them together, before tying my ankles to each of the front chair legs. He dragged his left index finger up the sole of each foot. This sudden attention to my exposed feet made me feel very naked, and my reaction to the whole situation was rather obvious under my tight boxer briefs. He began stroking the inside of each thigh, sending shivers throughout my scantily clad body. "One moment" he muttered, before disappearing into the kitchen, only to return with a pair of scissors. He used them to make a small nick on each side of my boxer briefs. He used these little holes to tear the underwear straight from my body. The sudden feeling of complete submission, exposure, and vulnerability caused my now bare erection to grow even further. I moaned very slightly as my last article of clothing was torn from my body. "What will I do when I leave...?" I asked sheepishly, now realising I had no underwear to go home in. "I don't care, you can go commando" he replied. I felt a strange anxious heat wash over me; I had never 'gone commando' before, and the concept seemed similar to having exposed feet around other people. I pondered this for a second before he started this game that he mentioned earlier. He began to slowly jerk my naked, hard cock, caressing my sensitive scrotum as he went, scissors still in hand. He put his mouth around my hard appendage, the moisture against the sensitivity of my cock caused me to loudly moan, almost as if it were against my will.

Phase 6: The game.
He suddenly stopped, before calmly walking to my right side, taking a small chunk of my hair and snipping it with the scissors. When I heard the crunch of scissors through hair, I panicked. "What the f***?!" I yelped, before he chuckled again. "Rule number one of the game, wench. If you make any noise, I snip off a strand of those lovely locks of yours" he winked at me. I fought back the panicked expression I felt on my face. 'Ok, remain silent and you'll get a nice hand job and go home with your pride and joy intact. Shouldn't be too hard, right?' I thought to myself, oblivious to rule number two.
He started again, slowly sliding back and forth my foreskin, the pleasure causing my body to convulse and my hips to thrust almost involuntarily. He stopped once more, grabbing my hair from the back and cutting off about an inch or two of length. I panicked again, worrying for the safety of my pride and joy. "Rule number two, try to stay f*cking still. If you move too much, I'll cut off an inch. Make noise WHILE you're fidgeting, I cut off three inches". I was scared at this point. How could he tease me so much and expect me to remain still and silent? The teasing carried on for another minute. His hands caressing my balls, his warm, moist tongue against the head of my cock, and his hand gliding the foreskin back and forth were all too much, and I thrusted hard against the resistance of the rope binding my bare ankles, and let out a rather loud moan.
"You're a bad b*tch" he exclaimed, amused. Sweat was trickling down my forehead now, as I realised what was coming... Snip, snip, snip... Three inches, gone... Or so I thought, until he waved about 5 or 6 inches of hair in front of my face, laughing at me, taunting. A tear rolled down my face as I realised how short my hair had become. It was only just past my shoulders at this point.

Phase 7: Torture.
He continued sucking and caressing, pushing my knees apart, although it strained my naked ankles. His warm, wet mouth slid up and down the length of my hard on. I could barely take this kind of torture anymore, but I was scraping by until... Oh s**t. He was stroking my bare soles with his fingertips now too?! Oh god, I couldn't take it, I thrusted my cock into his mouth rather forcefully, letting out an unintentional yelp, all rational thought absent from my brain.
'Oh f*ck...' I thought to myself. 'F*ck, f*ck F*CK!'. Was he going to cut my hair even shorter this time? Probably. I cried, I begged, and "shut up, b*tch!" He snapped. I panicked even more now, what was about to happen? He rummaged around a drawer on the other side of the room, before, to my horror, retrieving a clipper.

Phase 8: Compromise.
He turned on the clipper, and the horrible sound echoed through my head, louder and louder as he approached me. He brought the clipper very close to the side of my head, and I closed my eyes and braced myself for my worst nightmare. "Actually" he said "I'm going to give you a second chance". Relief washed over me. My hair was now only past my shoulders, but I wasn't bald, like I dreaded. He retrieved his phone from his pocket, before setting a timer that would count down from two minutes. "You can moan and thrust all you like, but if you cum before the time is up, I get to keep your shirt, sweater, shoes, and socks, and I get to punish you however I like." I was about to respond, before he interjected; "if the time is up and you're still going, I'll untie you, finish you, and you're free to go". I hastily said "I agree", wanting to get this awful dream over with.
He started the timer, and slowly jerked me off with a firm grip. I convulsed, moaned and thrusted for about 30 seconds before realising that I'd be in for worse than before if I came too soon. I then sat in the chair, as still and as quiet as I could be as he chuckled to himself. 20 seconds later: "finding this easy?" He probed. I nodded untruthfully as I fought to keep myself from finishing, sweat running down my temple. Almost a minute later: I was quite close, and he knew it. I was holding back my moans, and he grinned darkly, before taking my cock in his mouth and allowing it to hit the back of his throat. I moaned loudly, throwing my head back, my eyes wide with pleasure and despair. I looked at the timer, 20 seconds left. He began rapidly sliding his lips back and forth over my hard cock and I could barely contain myself. 15 seconds. I was so close. But I could do this...
12, 11, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6-

Phase 9: The final punishment.
All thought left my mind, heat filled my body, I convulsed, groaned, and my toes curled. The warm fluid exploded from my body into his mouth. He swallowed every last drop, as I sat there, hanging my head back, panting and moaning uncontrollably. He tapped his finger to the touch screen of his phone. "Oh dear. You were so close too, what a shame, my boy. But I guess it's game over".
Fear wracked my body and I was in denial of the horror of what I assumed was coming my way. He revealed the screen to me... 5 seconds left?? I was horrified, and incredibly annoyed that I couldn't hold out for longer.
He returned his phone to his jeans pocket, before retrieving the scissors from the floor. Without warning or mercy, he started grabbing handfuls of hair, and as I protested, hacked his way through the roots with great speed. I begged and begged, but he didn't stop. He carried on until all that was left on my head was a patchy, uneven mess. He excused himself for a second and came back into the living room with a full body mirror. I barely recognised the man I saw. The man who had usually never shown any part of his body to another human being, was now sat naked in a chair in the house of a stranger. And his hair... It usually came to the bottom of my ribcage at the front, but the man in the mirror had a patchy mess that was barely 3 inches at the longest points. I sat there and sobbed. "Time to neaten you up" he cackled, the pleasure in his face petrifying me. He grabbed the clippers, turned them on, and pushed the cold, hard, buzzing metal from the nape of my neck up to my crown. The clipper left a trail of destruction in it's path, my hair being reduced to a bristly stubble. He continued, after finishing the back, by pushing the clipper from my forehead to, again, my crown, before obliterating the sides. He was done, there was no chance of possibly going back. My head, to my disbelief, was now bald. I looked at myself in the mirror, shocked. When the clippers were off, he untied me, pushed me off the chair, and laughed. I was on his living room floor, naked, helpless, and shorn of my glory. I felt naked without my hair. I was beyond caring about my bare feet at this point.

Phase 10: Defeat.
He threw my jeans at me, not even giving me time to put them on before pushing me out of the front door into the night. Luckily, it was too late for many people to be out. I stumbled into my jeans. They felt peculiar to wear without underwear, as my genitals moved around a lot more. The light drizzle felt extremely unusual against my bare torso, and, of course, my naked scalp. I sat on the kerb in utter defeat, clutching my newly bald head, my bare feet becoming accustomed to the feeling of the outdoors.
"I am NEVER using Grindr again..." I muttered to myself.

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