Tom and Gabby Ch. 10 - The Haircut

I don't answer, deeply conscious of how the vibrations might affect the pitch and volume of my voice.

"Pay no mind to her," Linda explains. "She's very distrusting of people she doesn't know. Gabrielle, this nice lady is very kindly going to cut your hair for you," she beams. I tense up, and refrain from speaking.

Despite knowing the reasons for my defensive silence, Linda spins it as something else.

"It's nothing to be afraid of," she soothes. "Tom and I are going to be right here, the whole time, okay?"

Her words do little to quell my aversion to the idea.

I stammer to speak. "N...no," I choke, gruffly.

"Aw," Linda sounds, sympathetically. "Have you heard her Tom? I don't think she understands what's happening," she looks over at him, flashing her eyes, indicating that I'm on the verge of derailing her plan.

Tom immediately understands her nonverbal cue and I feel the vibrations being increased again. This increase feels significant, and my knees buckle beneath me, suddenly unable to support my weight.

Tom catches me before I drop to the floor.

"Enough theatrics Gabby," he tells me, making it sound like I meant to go down in some sort of deliberate, dramatic display.

"Where do you want her sweetheart?" he speaks to the hairdresser, who looks visibly concerned, perhaps wondering how she's going to succeed in cutting my hair when I'm so twitchy. If only she knew the real reason.

"If we can have her in this chair here," she motions, moving to the side of the first cutting space.

Tom roughly coerces me down into it and presses his hand onto my shoulder. He means it as a threat to settle me, but I writhe about in the leather seat, regardless.

"I'm going to need you to keep still for me once we get started Gabrielle," the hairdresser tells me softly. "I don't want to cut one of your ears off."

She obviously means it as a joke, but my inappropriately-timed moan as she says it makes her curb her attempts to establish rapport, and she looks to Tom and Linda for reassurance.

"We've got her sweetheart. You just do what needs to be done," Tom tells her, almost flirting with her.

"Alright," the woman gushes, seeming to enjoy his apparent attentions and the way he's calling her 'sweetheart'.

"I'll need to put a gown around her," she forewarns and walks across the room to collect one.

My clit is going crazy against the control pants. The vibrations are coursing through it, making me buck and twitch manically. I desperately try to bring my hand down to wrangle the gusset and vibration plate away from myself, but Linda sounds sharply to startle and stop me. She then draws attention to the lewd positioning in a further attempt to debase me.

"Gabrielle!" she scolds in feigned astoundment, speaking loudly to broadcast the scene across the salon. "What have we told you about touching your private parts in public!"

She seizes my wrist, wrestling it away from my pussy and securing it down to my side. Tom repeats the motion on the other side, restraining me completely.

The hairdresser returns, pretending not to have heard the commotion, and sweeps a black cutting gown around my front, fastening it at the neck before running her hands through my hair, stretching bits of it up to look at it.

"It's in a bad way, isn't it?" she comments, pityingly.

"It's why we've had to bring her in," Linda responds. "She goes crazy when I try to brush it, shouting and kicking off. You'd think I was trying to kill her, not make her look presentable. Even washing it seems to be traumatic for her. It takes both of us to get her in the shower. We're hoping it's going to be easier to manage when it's shorter," she deceives.

"It absolutely will be. You can't carry on like that, can you? Once I've finished, you'll be able to get it washed without all that fuss," the hairdresser agrees, seeking to validate Linda.

She seems to feel that Linda and Tom specifically chose her credentials for this monumental task and takes far more compliment than she should. The selection of this salon had nothing to do with this woman. She's just another victim of manipulation and they're making her complicit. Between them, Tom and Linda are painting a picture of themselves as a long-suffering couple, lumbered with me; their incapacitated, blithering idiot. They're creating the impression of having no other option but to bring me here. Unfortunately, and not by accident, I'm completely debilitated from dispelling this illusion.

I feel as my hair is pulled backwards over my shoulders and secured behind me, and I can't do anything to stop it.

My eyes are scrunched closed and I'm practically grinding against the cracked leather seat. The only reason the hairdresser is able to do anything at all to me is because of Tom and Linda's firm hold on me. I'd be squirming too much if they let go.

I recognise the starting of a deep, overwhelming wave in my pussy, and my legs move with a mind of their own, stretching out and landing flat on the metal bar by my feet.

My fingertips grapple for the arms of the chair, and I despairingly realise that a most unseemly orgasm is well on its way.

I'm helpless to prevent a loud, guttural groan escaping my mouth. Hearing it prompts Tom and Linda to tighten their hold of my arms.

"Is she okay?" the hairdresser concernedly flusters.

"It's just one of her spasms," Tom responds. "They're a regular thing. You should probably take a couple of steps back. She tends to buck a bit."

I'm too far gone to even consider protesting his explanation.

My calves tighten excruciatingly. Each sharp, shallow breath I take, promises unfathomable, mind-blowing pleasure to come. My throat emits unnatural noises; peculiar, pained wails and I wait on baited breaths for the climax to crescendo.

Eighties pop music plays through speakers in the background, overturing what's about to happen.

Heaven 17's 'Temptation' seems to be mocking me, the surrogate soundtrack to a new low in a life I didn't choose.

"I honestly wasn't expecting this, Lind," Tom comments at the side of me, with a subtle note of enjoyment in his voice.

"Me either," Linda agrees, talking across me. I can hear from her voice that she too, is trying to contain her exhilaration that it is happening.

"It's okay Gabby, we're right here," Tom speaks, making it look as though he's comforting me, chaperoning my alleged seizure. "Just let it out. Trying to fight them back never helps, you know that."

The sound of his voice is a provocation. I'd have been unable to stop the orgasm from happening anyway, but his words just accelerate and amplify it.

The pleasure hits me hard, washing over me with ferocious magnitude. I contort rigidly, held in the chair only by the will of Tom and Linda's hands. I'd have slid off and crumpled into a quivering mess on the floor if not for their grasp.

My back arches strenuously, seeming to try and fold me in half backwards and my hips and pelvis push all the way forward, distending my stomach unflatteringly.

My face twists unrecognisably and my eyes roll into the back of my skull.

My mouth opens, and I let out a deep, whining exhale, expelling what feels like my body's entire air supply.

I twistedly lock in this gargoyle like position for a couple of seconds, waiting for the climax to ease, before the rigidity in my muscles loosens and I become floppy, moving only in sporadic jolts.

The radio continues to play through the wall mounted speakers in the background, perhaps I'm the only one who notices and takes the time to listen. Nothing else in the salon moves or utters a sound. Everyone around me is silent, for their own differing reasons.

Tom and Linda are undoubtedly basking in delight at my egregious degradation. The hairdresser is probably contemplating the profound horror of what she just witnessed.

The vibrations decrease but don't stop, continuing to hum against my sodden slit on a low frequency.

"She should be alright now, if you want to make a start," Tom speaks, seeming to veil his instruction behind suggestion. He leans over the back of the chair to heave my slumped, dead weight back into a more upright position.

"Really? Is she going to be alright?" the hairdresser fusses. "Shouldn't we call an ambulance?"

Linda laughs out loud at the idea. "There's really no need. If we called an ambulance every time she had one of her 'episodes' we'd have to make a permanent parking space for them," she tells her humouredly. "We're here with her, and she knows that. It's all she needs. Don't worry."

"Sorry sweetheart," Tom offers. "We'd hoped she might be able to make it through a haircut without having one. Apparently not. The stimulation of being here probably got a bit too much for her. It's honestly nothing to worry about. They're just something that happens to her. Something she has no control over, and no way of stopping. Once she comes round, she'll probably be a bit more settled. Maybe even a bit embarrassed about having one in public like that."

I expect Tom thinks he's incredibly clever by twisting the truth like this. Linda certainly seems to think so. I can feel her grip on me changing as she tries to disguise her sadistic amusement.

"She needn't be embarrassed," the hairdresser assures. "She can't help it, can she?"

"No, she can't," Linda almost squeaks, her voice warbling, finding the whole situation hilarious. She starts stroking my arm to compose herself. My whole body feels wildly oversensitive after the orgasm, and Linda's fingertips on my skin cause me to twitch.

"So, your wife has explained what you want doing with Gabrielle's hair," the hairdresser trails off. "It's not going to take me long, but I'm going to need her to be kept still while I'm cutting. Is that going to be alright?" she asks Tom.

"Absolutely," he acknowledges. "My wife and I will hold her still for you. She always tends to be a bit groggy after one of her do's anyway, so we can use that to our advantage."

I feel movement around me but haven't the energy to peel my eyes open to face the world, or Linda's smugness yet. The hairdresser straightens the cutting gown around my front, ensuring my clothes are covered.

"Bless her," she murmurs, with a note of undue pity. "What causes the seizures?" she asks, interestedly.

"We're still not entirely sure," Linda speaks up. "From what we understand, they're caused by 'complex overstimulation of her nerves', but we don't really know exactly. We reckon they're caused by a combination of things."

A loud whirring starts behind me. It's similar to the noise the wand makes, but louder and much closer to my ears than the wand ever gets.

"That sounds awful," the hairdresser says. "I'm going to need her head tilted right forward," she instructs, and Linda brusquely pushes my head down, forcing my chin to my chest.

I feel as something hard and cold is pressed to the back of my neck. It tickles slightly as it's dragged upwards, in long continuous strokes, right to the top of my skull.

I shudder as I feel long strands of shorn hair begin to fall from my head, cascading down my neck and floating to the floor. The strokes continue, unrelentingly.

I realise what is being done and shake myself back to consciousness, appalled. It takes a couple of seconds for my eyes to be able to focus on what is happening from the reflection in the mirror before me. The hairdresser is concentrating hard as she continues to hack at my hair with a set of clippers.

"Stop," I shout, my voice hoarse and gravelly.

The hairdresser bounds backwards, away from me.

"Gabby," Tom soothes. "It's fine, calm down."

I thrash my head from side to side, trying to see the damage that's already been done, not noticing as Tom slips his hand back into his pocket. The back of my hair is almost all gone, shaved down to a short spiky crop, no more than a couple of centimetres long. Linda instructed this woman to scalp me. No wonder she didn't want me to hear her instructions prior to their enactment.

The vibrations multiply again, far exceeding the level I just orgasmed at, and I'm thrown backwards in the chair again, mumbling incomprehensible garbled nonsense.

"Sorry about that sweetheart. Feel free to carry on," Tom advises, heaving me forward to allow the woman better access to the back of my head.

The hairdresser steps forward, tentatively.

"I'm nearly done at the back here," she reassures Tom.

"Take your time," Tom responds. "This needs to be done properly."

Linda moves around to behind me, where she can voyeuristically watch what's being done to my hair.

"It's absolutely fantastic so far," she schmoozes delightedly, when she sees it, underhandedly aiming her words at me. "You're going to feel so much better once it's all gone Gabrielle," she informs me.

I wholeheartedly doubt this.

She sweeps back around to the front of me and crouches down by my legs, bringing her hands up to my wrists and holding them in place, rested on the arms of the chair. Every time I open my eyes, she's looking up at me delightedly, gloating shamelessly about how much she's enjoying the situation she's orchestrated. I can't bear to look at her face, glistening with arrogance at her own genius.

The vibrations serve superbly to stop me lashing out at her and to keep me quiet. I flinch occasionally, unable to control myself.

I had a bad feeling about this salon as soon as I saw it. My instincts were absolutely right.

"You're doing so well down there Gabrielle," the hairdresser praises me, an unknowing accomplice in this innocent-seeming assault. I murmur feebly, and she interprets it as gratitude.

"Aw. Can I have her head straight, so I can do the sides?" she requests.

Tom obliges happily, cupping my chin and tilting my head back up to its normal position. Despite appearances, he's doesn't do it gently.

"Do you need me to move?" Linda enquires. "I think Gabrielle's finding it comforting with me here supporting her."

Nothing could be further from the truth. I find her presence in front of me vexing and she knows it. She's utterly insidious.

"You're fine there," the hairdresser adulates. "The priority is making Gabrielle feel reassured."

She moves around to the side of me before bringing the clippers down against my head again and gliding the blade upward towards the crown.

In the rare moments my body permits me to open my eyes and focus on what she's doing in the mirror, I'm forced to bear witness to more and more of my long hair disappearing and dropping to the floor. I want to cry, but the vibrations don't allow it. Instead, I feel another unwanted wave starting in my pussy, and shallow my breathing to ragged panting.

The hairdresser picks up pace, moving to shave off as much hair as she can before I suffer another 'episode'.

Another buildup sets in, ascending rapidly. Both of my arms and legs tense inflexibly.

"Oh shit," Tom sounds.

"She's going to go again sweetheart," he advises the hairdresser.

On hearing this, she switches the clippers off dutifully and steps back again, giving me a sufficient perimeter of space to spasm within.

Linda keeps her hands pressed on my wrists, digging her fingers in, and Tom grips my upper arms, unchivalrously reminding me that he's there.

"Another one already Gabrielle?" Linda feigns sympathy. "You're really going through it today, aren't you?" she artfully mocks.

My pussy twinges involuntarily, small flutters at first, slowly intensifying until a burst of earthquake-like proportions ricochets through me, sending me into frenzied convulsing motions.

Although Tom and Linda are holding me, they make no move to stop my hips bucking wildly, and I feel my cunt flooding itself messily with pleasured torment.

It's substantially worse than the first orgasm, and no sooner than Tom's hands release from my arms and the vibrations decrease, I collapse down, sinking deep into a distant, oblivious afterglow.

I can faintly hear Linda encouraging the hairdresser to resume, and my head is wrangled back up to allow the clippers to finish their destruction.

"Oh bless her. Obviously, I'm no expert in the matter, but that one looked worse than the last one?" the hairdresser asks, speaking loudly over the loud humming noise.

Tom answers. "The second ones usually are, especially when they happen in such quick succession. All her nerve endings were still sensitive from the last one, which made everything much more intense. She definitely felt that one," he pauses.

"We can't claim to know exactly what she goes through while they're happening, but we watch her suffer them, day in and day out. Don't we love?" Linda contributes, involving Tom, who hums.

"We both think that she must be in unbearable pain. Something that causes her to go completely rigid like that. It's the only reason we can think of for why her face screws up so much," she describes.

"The poor thing," the hairdresser hums and busies herself with moving around me to rid me of my remaining hair. She takes extra care as she slowly manoeuvres the clippers around my ears.

My head feels strangely naked.

"Absolutely. She has a rough time with it," Tom agrees. "I mean it's hard for us too; watching her go through them. Sometimes eleven, or twelve times in a day? We just have to wait until they pass. And when she's recovered, all we can do is reassure her; tell her that it's all okay, and promise that she never has to worry, because we'll always be here to look after her."

"Oh, bless you both. I'm sure she feels better when she hears that," the hairdresser empathises.

"It's difficult to know, but we mean it all the same," Linda answers tritely.

"I know it probably looks a bit extreme, compared to what she had before..." the hairdresser starts.

"It looks perfect," Linda cuts in. "To be honest with you, with everything else we do for her, we'd not noticed how bad it'd gotten ourselves. My mother actually brought up the subject when she came to visit a few weeks ago, and it got me thinking."

The pieces fall into place in my brain, even from within my afterglow. This latest abuse had been Wendy's idea. The perverse old degenerate.

She must have suggested it while Linda had been showing her around the house.

"Your mother was right to mention it. Like we discussed earlier, this is going to be much easier for you to manage. And I'm sure Gabrielle will be happier with it like this," the hairdresser reiterates.

"Oh definitely," Linda agrees. "Is there any way you could maybe spike it up a bit when you're finished?" she suggests.

"Yeah of course. I can run a bit of gel through, to liven it up." the hairdresser offers. "I've tried to cut it so that you can style it, if Gabrielle will let you. And then if you haven't got time, or she's having a 'bad day', you can just leave it as is," she offers, opinionatedly, finishing up round my right ear.

"The cut is absolutely fantastic, " Linda gushes. "It'll be even better once the colour all grows out, and she's back to natural," she adds, as if the idea has just come to her.

"Is there anything we can do to maybe speed that process up a bit? Her roots are really patchy, which makes her look a bit scruffy. I'm always trying to make her look acceptable, as difficult as she makes it, " she construes.

"Of course you do. As for her roots, they're not as bad as you think," the hairdresser comments, running her fingers through my now uncomfortably short, cropped hair.

I'm starting to regain my faculties and listen in closely.

"Don't you think?" Linda murmurs, disappointedly. "I feel like she'll look better once she's stripped back to her natural colour."

"There are shampoos that'd help with it, if it bothers you?" the hairdresser advises. "But I think your best option is to wait. We've cut off a lot of the colour off today, and with a few more good trims like this one, all the artificial colours will be gone. Any regrowth will come through colour free."