From Mistress to Missy
From Mistress To Missy – P.J. Shearer (as told to ‘Da Marsh)
AUTHOR’S NOTE: This story contains depictions of sexual situations, bondage and discipline, male and female domination, and of course, female headshaving. If you can’t handle any of these, please click the “back” button.
It was an ordinary night in town, a crescent moon and stars shining, the whole bit, but it was no ordinary night for me. When my rental car pulled in front of the old brownstone, I knew something erotically out of the ordinary would take place – and that I’d be right in the middle of it.
Who the hell am I? Those who read the classic “Tijuana Bibles” have no doubt heard of the legend of the traveling salesman, seducing housewives and farmers’ daughters. I’m P.J. Shearer, the traveling salesman for the new millennium. Like the mythical brush man, I’m fully endowed, and I usually find a lady looking for a little out of the ordinary fun on every sales call, but I travel the skyways, not the rails, and the kind of gals I meet are far from Little Suzy Homemaker or Sweet Mary Lou. Let’s just say I’m a man of many tastes for now, and one of my favorites is female hair. I like it long, I like it bobbed; depending on the cut, I like it short; I like it in red, blonde, black and brown, but I REALLY love it shaved! I could tell you how I got this way, etc., but I’ll get around to it in another story. After all, you want to get to the good parts, right?
A while back, I was searching the various enthusiast web sites, chat rooms and message boards. In a particular chat room, I met someone named MissMel. I clicked the User Info on her, and it said Mistress Melissa. Cute, but it still didn’t tell me much. She described herself as tall, almost a six-footer, 140lbs., 36D-23-35, with thigh-length dark brown, almost black, hair. At first, I was skeptical – after all, it’s the Net, who’s really who they appear to be? But what really got my attention was when I asked her what she did:
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MissMel: I’m a dominatrix.
PJShear: Oh, come on.
MissMel: Yes, I’m a dominatrix; I whip people for money.
PJShear: Who’d want to pay for you to something like that to themselves?
MissMel: You’d be surprised. Lawyers, executives, salesmen like yourself. Powerful people who need to feel powerless every once in a while.
PJShear: So, what would I get for my hard-earned dollars from you?
MissMel: Whatever I want. I mostly charge by the hour, and also on how kinky I know my clients are. For simple bondage and discipline (Riding crops, bound by ropes, etc.), I usually charge $50 an hour.
MissMel: For kinkier stuff, like some fantasy scenarios or elaborate bondage, I charge, say, $75-100 an hour. And for certain clients, I charge $250 for “The Full Treatment”. I do practically everything I want to them for as long as I want, usually for a couple of hours.
PJShear: What do you mean by kinky?
MissMel: Certain scenarios, like you in a dress, or you in a diaper. It’s rarely anything you’d think as sexual.
PJShear: So, how much do you charge for sexual fantasies?
MissMel: I usually don’t get requests for sex. With most of my clients, it’s more of a power thing.
MissMel: So, do all these questions mean you’re interested?
PJShear: Could be……
To make a long story short, we chatted some more, and she invited me to her place the next time I was in her town. She also said there were some photos of her in the “Members Gallery”, so I checked. There she was, alright, just like she described, wearing a black patent leather corset, with matching knee-high stiletto-heeled boots and elbow-length gloves. While all those were eye-catching, what really got my attention was the dark brown waterfall flowing past her shoulders and downward that she called her hair. It was shiny, almost black, almost down to her ass (She did say the pictures were taken a while back). I could tell just by looking at it that it was soft and silky, too. The kind of hair I love to run through – first with my fingers, then with the clippers……
A few months later, I had a sales call that would take me to Mistress Melissa’s hometown, so I told her about it, and that I’d also like to take her up on her invitation to her place. In a private chat room, she gave me her address and phone number. I arrived on a Wednesday, and sealed the deal on Friday, so on Friday night, I called Mistress Melissa and told her I wanted the Full Treatment. So there I was, about to make my fantasy (or one of them) a reality.
Wherever I go, I always take my “travel kit”, with two sets of clippers; a smaller cordless pair for trimming pussy hairs, a big plug-in model with all the guards, various-sized pairs of scissors, adapters for foreign electrical outlets, and a Tracer FX with extra heads, among other things. Some may think I’m eccentric carrying my travel kit with me, even across town, but hey, I find plenty of uses for them, and you’ll find out some of them soon. This night was no exception. Hey, not only did I land a big account, but I made a bundle on a day trade that day, so why not bring it for good luck?
I went into the brownstone a few minutes early. She told me earlier on the phone to put the $250 in cash on the coffee table in the living room, take off my clothes, and then put on a blindfold. I followed these instructions to the letter, then I waited for her. A few minutes later, I heard a cool, seemingly uninterested voice saying, “Excellent. The tribute is in cash, and you have done what I told you to. Follow me.” I felt a soft, smooth hand clutch one of mine, and then she led me into a hallway. She opened a door, and carefully led me down a short flight of stairs. When we got to the bottom, she led me again to a particular spot. She made me bend over a short pole, and I felt my wrists and ankles getting tied to it with rope. When the binding was complete, the blindfold came off.
The room seemed like a typical brownstone basement turned dungeon. A bare light bulb hung in the center of the room. There was a cross along a wall, a stretching rack in one corner, and a cage in another, from where I was positioned. Then, Mistress Melissa came into view. She looked every bit as sexy as she did in the photos, but then the photos didn’t do her justice. She was dressed in what she wore in the photos, sans the gloves, with a bracer on her right wrist. She had the face, build and carriage of a model, but her physique was slightly more pumped-up than your average clotheshorse. And her hair? It was even better than the photos – she dyed it jet black, and she had it up in a bun with a thick ponytail sticking down from it, like Jeannie of “I Dream Of Jeannie”. The ponytail ended at the small of her back, and the black dye job went well with her porcelain skin, silvery eye makeup (to match her sparkly gray eyes) and dark red lips. She was holding a horsehair whip, and although her face appeared calm and collected, I could tell her right arm was patiently ready to have at it on whatever body part of mine that she liked.
“So,” she finally spoke to me. “What do you think of my little dungeon? I see you like to shave practically everywhere (It’s true; I shave everywhere except my head and eyebrows – in sales, outlandishness is frowned upon, and that includes shaved heads). Your face, your neck, your arms and legs… even your butt and crotch? That clearly shows that you’re a very bad boy, and that deep down, you want my discipline, don’t you? Don’t you?” A crack of the whip on my ass got me to answer.
“Yes.”
“Yes who?” (Crack!)
“Yes, Mistress Melissa.” And so, she proceeded from the whip to the ass, the cat-o’-nine-tails to the back, me licking her boots and “worshipping” her, you know, the standard bondage routine. After a while, I realized that this wasn’t as much of a turn-on as I imagined it to be.
It was when I was bent over a leather-padded sawhorse, tied looser than she normally tied me, that things started to get out of hand. I was resting on my stomach when I mentioned how boring things had become, a big mistake on my part. Mistress Melissa just gave me an evil grin and said, “Well, I’ll take care of THIS right away.” She walked to a nearby cabinet, slid down her panties, showing a thin, but luxurious strip of pubic hair straight down her pussy, and then she got out a two-headed strap-on dildo! When she was inserting one head of it in her pussy, I found out how loose she tied me, and untied the rope enough to look like I was still tied. She was walking back toward me, with the same wicked grin on her face. At this time, I figured out what I was going to do to stop her.
You see, there’s only two parts of a man’s body that could take the other end of that dildo she was wearing. And she wasn’t approaching my mouth. Since I firmly believe that the anus is an exit, not an entrance, I yelled, “OK, that’s enough!”
Mistress Melissa replied, “Enough? I’m just getting started, you worm!”
I said, “So am I,” then I sprung up from the sawhorse, the ropes falling to the floor. “You call this domination? It’s more like haunted house playacting!”
The plan I thought of was going to be carried out, and soon, I was going to get what I really wanted from her. “You think you know domination,” I challenged her, “Well how about a little bet? If you can dominate me, REALLY dominate me, I’ll pay double the rate, and you can do everything you can think of on me, but if I dominate you, then I’ll do what I want to do to you. Deal?”
Her reply was just as challenging. “Well, well, well, look who thinks he actually has a pair! Give me your best shot.”
I was approaching her, still naked, with a determined, but playful smirk on my face. She was already against a wall, reaching for the horsehair whip. As I came closer to her, she cracked it in front of me. Problem was, by grabbing the whip, she was telegraphing her punches, so I grabbed the business end of it with my left hand, and yanked it out of her right hand, her eyes wide open with surprise. Sure, it hurt like Hell, but as my old high-school football coach used to say to me, “You’ve got to play through the pain.” I shook my left hand as the whip dropped to the floor and said, “My, my, you look mighty pretty when you’re mad.”
I had her against the wall, ready to grab her no matter which way she’d go. When she finally made a run for it, I grabbed one of her wrists, then the other. My hands were still holding her wrists apart, my feet atop hers so she couldn’t kick her way out. With her high heels, our eyes met. I still had the shit-eating grin on my face. Melissa spit at me, and it hit right above my upper lip. I just licked it up right in her face and went back to grinning. You see, while Mistress Melissa might work out a bit, so do I, and I still have the physique that got me through high-school football and the Army.
Suddenly, she knew she was beaten. Her taut muscles loosened, her head bowed, she was easy to lead, so I took her to the sawhorse, sat herself down on it, and I started to take off her outfit. I started with the bracer and the boots. When it came to take off the dildo, I told her, “Alright, Miss Missy, it’s time to put away your toys, like a good little girl.” After I took off her corset (from the looks of her nude, she doesn’t need it anyway), I tied her legs to the front legs of the sawhorse, spread far apart so her honeypot (and the pubic hairs) were exposed and vulnerable. I tied her arms to her sides, keeping the knots tight and out the reach of her hands, just like her legs. Her magnificent tits stuck out like they were defying gravity, and most importantly, her ponytail was gently swaying back and forth, like a whip hanging from a hook. I told her, “OK, Miss Missy, you talk a good game about domination, but when I come back down, you’re going to learn from a master.”
I came back into the living room, I got the travel kit and then proceeded to her bedroom, to get a scrunchie, then to her bathroom, to find some Noxema, towels and washcloths. When I came back down to the dungeon, she was still securely tied down to the sawhorse. “OK, Miss Missy, you need a few pointers on how to REALLY dominate somebody. The most important lesson I can teach you is this: To dominate like a man, it’s best to look like one, and in your case, that ‘do of yours DOESN’T do it. But I can fix that.”
I went behind her and took out a few hairpins. The bun at the base of the ponytail started to unravel, so I took out every pin I could find. Her ebony tresses flowed down to the floor. I got a brush from my travel kit and started to run it through her soft, shiny, silky raven-colored locks. Missy was enjoying this somewhat, and said, “So, THIS is what you mean by domination, eh, P.J.? I can certainly handle this.”
I replied, “Not so fast, Missy. This is just the start of the lesson.” I took some towels and laid them out around the sawhorse, then I took a mirror from one of the walls and placed it in front of her face. Next, I took a scrunchie and tied her hair into a tight regular ponytail. I opened the kit bag, then I got out the longest pair of scissors in the bag. I opened the blades in front of her. “Say Missy, when was the last time you had a haircut?”
“Six, maybe seven years, why…?” She saw the blades and her eyes seemed to be one and a half times bigger. I reached for the back of the scrunchie….
SSSSSSSSSSSNNNNNNNNNNNIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPP! Snip, snip, snip, snip… the long metal blades sliced through her long dark mane… snip, snip, snip, snip… halfway through her thick ponytail… snip, snip, snip… a few more snips, snip, snip, snip, sinp… and there! The ponytail was off! I showed it to Missy, then laid it across a towel on the floor.
Putting down the scissors, I reached inside the kit and found the big pair of Andis clippers. I snapped on the one-inch guard. “OK, your hair’s kinda short, like some guys, but it’s not unique, not eye-catching. But I know just the cut you need.” I plugged them in… POP! HHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. The clippers sprang to life. Missy gave out a slight shiver as they touched her nape, right underneath the soon to be ex-hairline.
I shoved her head down until her chin almost touches her breasts. HHHHHHHHHhhhhhhMMMMMMMMmmmmm… the clippers went upwards on the left side, Army style. Missy felt the first hairs falling on her shoulders, sliding down her breasts and back… onto the floor. HHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhMMMMMmmmmmmmmmm. Her left side was only an inch long as her hair continued to pile up. Her cheeks began to blush. If she could, her legs would start to press together, her nipples hardened, her chest rose and fell faster… no doubt about it, she had what I call the Clipper Craving.
The left side finished, I went up the back and top. HHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhMMMMMMMMMmmmmmm… half way finished. We could see the difference between the still medium-length, luxurious right side with the short, buzzed left. HHHHHHHHHHHHhhhMMMMMMMMMmmmm. The top and sides finished, I started on the right, buzzing all the way. I went from back to front, so Missy could see the last vestiges of her former hairstyle fall onto her nubile body. HHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhMMMMMmmmmmmmm. A few more passes… HHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhMMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmmmmmHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhMMMMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmm… and there! Her inch-long buzz was complete.
“Well, Miss Missy, what do you think?” Her eyes were still wide open. Her neck looked longer… Missy looked even taller than before – and I could see the moistness around her pussy. She was still speechless. I finally asked her, “You like those clippers, don’t you?”
“Oooooh yes, this was my first time. It feels like a thousand fingers running through my hair, massaging my scalp.”
I was cleaning them out when I asked her, “So, would you like another buzz, Miss Missy?”
“Yes.”
“Yes who?”
“Yes, Master.” I screwed the blade back on, and I didn’t even bother to put a guard on. “This time, you’ll really feel it, Missy.”
POP! HHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhMMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmm… and the clippers sprung into action again. Without a guard on, Missy felt every vibration, every sensation, as every pass turned her head from black to dark brown, then more fleshtones appeared. Her one-inch ‘do was being reduced to a sixteenth of an inch. HHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhMMMMMMMMmmmmmmm… more color filled her cheeks… goose bumps soon appeared on her soft, creamy smooth skin. I had to warn her about moving her head, so she wouldn’t get cut. HHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhMMMMMMMMMMmmmmmmmmmmm… the second buzz was finished sooner than the first buzz.
I cleaned out the clippers and put the big boy away, but the action wasn’t over yet. I picked up the smaller, cordless pair of clippers. “If you think that buzz was something, Missy, you ain’t felt nothing yet!”
Pop! Hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. I started with her eyebrows; hhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmm, to the left, hhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmm, to the right. Afterwards, the only hairs left on Missy longer than a sixteenth of an inch were her eyelashes and her pussy hairs. Of the two, her pubic hair was a much more tempting target, so down I went… hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm… my cordless clippers may be small, but they made short work of her short-and-curlies, particularly the thin lines of hairs on the sides of her netherlips. I conveniently forgot to put a guard on the little clippers, all the better to hear Missy moan with delight. After a few minutes, her pussy matched her head, sparse and stubbly.
When I came back from the bathroom with a bowl of hot water, Missy was still staring at herself in the mirror, her head and beaver still stubbly. But she had the perfect head shape to go bald. I could just imagine her in her finest dominatrix gear, her un-locked head shining as much as the leather. Anyway, back to the action. I wetted down a few towels to put on her head, so the stubble would rise up. When that was done, I applied the shaving gel to her head, rubbing it on. I could still hear a slight moan when I rubbed it on. Now I was ready to shave. The Tracer FX glided across her head, conformed to every curve on it, made sure that no stray hair, not even the smallest bit of stubble escaped the blades. Next, her pussy got the smoothie treatment. Sometimes, my fingers had minds of their own when they smoothed on the shaving gel… but then it was time to get to work, making sure that Missy would be a true damsel in dis-tress. I finished her off by dusting off the cut hairs all over her body.
Missy finally spoke. “P.J., would you believe that this was the most erotic thing I’ve done all year?”
“Oh, come on,” I replied.
“No, it’s true. Like I said before, my clients come for bondage, pain, humiliation and a little shame, not sex. and what’s worse, attracting regular boyfriends is almost impossible. Once they see my dungeon, and sooner or later they will, half of them break up, and some even turn into subs, er, submissives, as if I needed any more of them! No wonder I’m not having as much fun in bed!”
“Hey, don’t sell yourself short. Even when you’re bald, you’re beautiful.”
“Oh, you’re just saying that.”
“I only say it when it’s true. Take a look at yourself in the mirror. You’re a TOTALLY bare babe, with a head made for caressing, and a pussy good enough to eat! Say, isn’t your head feeling sensitive now?”
“Uh, yes.”
I untied her arms and legs. “Don’t worry, a blow job will cure it. Trust me, just suck, and find out!”
The newly freed Missy went to her knees and sucked me like a pro. Meanwhile, I took some Noxema and smoothed some on her head (Note to anyone thinking of headshaving; after the shave, make sure you put something on your head, whether it’s ice, Noxema, Neosporin or what have you. After all, it’s just had its first shave, and it’s bound to be sensitive). My hands were massaging her scalp, while her tongue and lips were massaging my dick! Missy was certainly moaning in approval. It was about three-quarters of the way there already, but Missy’s mouth was getting my member to its full 8-9 inches long, 1 1/4 inches wide.
After a few minutes, I asked her, “Don’t you have something more comfortable for screwing?”
“Yes, Master.”
So, I picked up her ponytail and followed her to the bedroom. We picked up where we left off, but with a difference; I was reuniting her head with the ponytail that was growing from it just an hour ago, while she was giving me some head. Soon we got into the 69 position. My tongue had to swim to find her clit, but it was worth it. Hey, I’m not afraid to go down on a gal. Like Richie Valens’ brother in “La Bamba” said, “It smells like fish, but it tastes like chicken.” About ten minutes later, I told her to lick my balls while I put a rubber on (You’ve got to maintain an erection to put them on, right? Clearly a job for her if there ever was one!), then before we went to straight fucking, Missy wanted me to tie HER up to the brass bed frame with scarves while we do it. After 15 minutes, we both came hard. My condom didn’t break (it’s one of those new advanced polymer jobs, hard to get, but it’s worth it, it feels like you aren’t wearing a thing), but it almost flew off when I pulled out of her.
After the sex, I cleaned her off, and paid her another $250. Hey, it was DEFINITELY worth every penny! A few weeks later, I received an e-mail form Missy:
Dear P.J. (A.K.A. Master),
I can’t thank you enough for shaving my head (oops, heads! haha)! The $500 you paid me bought plenty of long-haired wigs to wear around town, and I’ve even used them in my dominatrix act! I come out like I did with you, and I ask the sub if he likes my hair. When it comes time to say yes, I tell him I can never have anything he likes, and if a worm like him wants my hair, he can have it, while I take the wig off! As part of worshipping, I even force them to lick my head! Many a subs’ eyes have bugged out ’cause of this. What’s even better is that now I’m even modeling for fetish wear magazines! And also, thanks for giving me a taste of my own medicine! I’m sure I deserved it! Next time you’re in town, call or e-mail me… I KNOW I’m going to be a bad girl, and there’s just no telling what I’ll do…. xoxoxo
Missy (Mistress Melissa to the rest of the world)
Thanks for reading this work of fiction. If you like it, and you want to publish it on your web site, please E-Mail me at CEMarshII@Hotmail.com. Permission granted to print or download one copy for personal use only. Unauthorized publication will be punished!
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