In Wife Salon

 ALL STORY LIST

It was Friday morning, and I had planned to get a haircut at my usual barber a few miles away from the downtown business district. However, my secretary dialed my cell phone and informed me that a new meeting popped up on my schedule at 10:00. 

 I couldn't make it to my barber to get a haircut and back for the meeting, so I  thought of my wife's friend, Marie. 

She runs a beauty salon a few doors down the street from my accounting firm.  I quickly called Marie and she had an opening, so I parked on the street and popped in. Marie greeted me with a smile, as usual. 

She was a buoyant personality, with looks to match. Swingy dark hair cut in a trendy bob topped off her usual impeccable style. Today, she was wearing an expensive green sweater over a simple black skirt and black nylons.

 I couldn't keep myself from looking at her as she led me to the chair.  

I was a little bit nervous since Marie's beauty salon is a place where few guys ever go. It has lace curtains on the windows, pastel pink walls, and lots of impressionist art intermixed with pictures of women in fancy dress and hairstyles. 

Marie tried to put me at ease with humor, as she slid the shiny pink cape on. 

"Now, I don't have any other capes, so you'll just have to be a girl for today," she teased. 

"OK," I said lightly, seeing it as a joke and trying to relax.  While Marie was getting me settled in the chair, her partner Amelia came in. Amelia is as cute, if not cuter than Marie, with pretty blond hair in curls to her neck and a well-exercised body. 

Her first client showed up almost immediately as Marie began cutting my hair. It happened to be a man, but he seemed to know Amelia well and be at ease.  

As my haircut progressed, Marie swung my chair around so that I was facing  Amelia's station. 

I saw Amelia begin placing curlers in her client's hair. I snickered out loud. I could see Marie's frown right away in the mirror across the shop. She whispered in my ear, "Be nice," as she turned me back around to work on another part of my hair.  

At the front of the shop, as I was paying Marie for my haircut, she scolded me for laughing at the guy getting his hair curled.

 "Men get perms all the time. He's a good customer, and I don't appreciate you laughing at him. You know, your hair could do with a perm. You like to keep it long and a perm would give it some body."  

"Ha, that'll be the day!" I said. 

"My firm thinks I'm weird enough having hair longer  than a crewcut."  

I finished paying and tipped Marie well because I felt a little bit guilty about offending her. I figured next time I got my hair cut, I'd be back at Barber Joe's.  

The next month rolled around and it was a busy one. It was tax time and our clients had us running on coffee and adrenaline. On the last Friday of the month, I finally got caught up enough to think about getting my monthly hair trimmed. 

Once again, I was driving to work to drop off a few files, and then I was going to run out to Barber Joe. When my cell phone rang, I almost didn't answer it because I had been practically glued to it for weeks. 

But I did answer it, and it was our secretary.

 "You  have a meeting coming up at 10:00. Greta from Annunzio's wants you to meet her at  the restaurant."

 I thought to myself that their taxes were done. What could Greta possibly want? However, since she was another friend of my wife, I thought I would do her the favor.  

A feeling of deja vu came over me as the idea occurred to me of getting another haircut from Marie since once again I wouldn't be able to take the time to drive out to Barber Joe's. 

I just hoped she didn't expect as big of a tip as last time. I called her,  and voila, she had an opening. I ran down the street and ducked into her shop. Marie greeted me brightly, as usual. Amelia was there, too, sitting in one of the chairs and reading a magazine.  

"Well, you were between a rock and a hard place so you had to come back?" she asked me.  

"Yes," I said, "I've got a meeting coming up at 10:00 and I need a quick trim." 

 "Well, let's get started," she said with an air of authority. She had sort of a business-like undertone to her manner this morning. 

She was bright and cheery but seemed in a hurry.  "We better wash your hair," she said. "You're kind of sweaty." 

 "OK, whatever," I said.  She laid me back with my head over the sink and wet down my hair. Then she opened a bottle of sweet-smelling shampoo.  "Do you have to use that?" I said. 

"Don't you have anything that won't make me  smell like my wife all day?"  

"No, I don't," she said. "It won't kill you. The main thing is to get your hair clean  before I cut it." 

 "Alright," I said.  Marie worked the shampoo into my hair, kneading it with her fingers lightly and massaging my scalp. I kind of drifted away a little bit, enjoying the experience despite myself. About that time, I felt something slipping over my wrist. Amelia had walked over, and I tried to raise up to see what she was doing. 

That's when I realized that a belt had been buckled over my chest and I couldn't get up. Marie pushed my head back down rather firmly, as I felt something slip over my other wrist. Amelia had handcuffed me! 

I began to struggle a little bit, but all I could do was flail my legs around. That's when Marie sat on my legs facing me. Her gorgeous red lips  were telling me something about being an asshole and needing some "sensitivity  training." While she was sitting on my legs, Amelia bound them together with another belt and buckle. 

Here I was, minutes after walking into the beauty salon trussed up in the chair! I was speechless.  

"Let's take him to the makeover room," Marie said to Amelia. They slipped another buckled strap over my upper arms and chest and unbuckled me from the chair. 

Both women were strong and helped me sort of hop to the back of the shop. About that time, I found my voice again. 

I started yelling, but both women told me it was no use, and no one would hear me. I kept yelling anyway. 

I was starting to feel very threatened and get the idea that this wasn't just a practical joke.  

When we got back to the makeover room, Marie took some small sponges from the shelf and reached down to peel the stocking from her foot. She put the sponges in the stocking. "Missy needs to be gagged, I think," she told Amelia. 

They used a roll of tape to secure the makeshift gag into my mouth. I was wiggling around pretty well by this time, trying to figure out a way to get free from the buckled straps.  

"Missy needs to be wrapped a little tighter," Amelia said, laughing. Marie held me while Amelia left for a moment. When she returned, Marie instructed Amelia to take off my pants and underwear. I began to struggle, but couldn't overcome Marie's hold. 

Then Amelia also took off my tie and shirt, pulling them out from under the straps. I was naked and bound in the back room of a beauty salon with two women.  

What was going through their minds, I didn't know.  

"Wrap him up, honey!" Marie said cheerily. "Put a pink cape on him first!" Amelia wrapped the silky pink cape tightly around me. The material swished on my skin,  making me feel very strange. 

The gag was filling up my mouth and I could hardly make a sound. I thought they were done, but Amelia then took out what looked like a large roll of saran wrap. She began at my feet and wrapped it tightly around me all the way up my body, forcing the silky cape next to my skin all over.  

Once I was practically mummified in saran wrap, except for my head and neck, Marie and Amelia sat me down in the makeover chair. It was a standard beauty shop chair, but the makeover room was evidently the place Marie used to get brides ready for their weddings and that sort of thing. It had a sink and carts with rollers in it, but in addition, it featured makeup trays on the counters that lined the room.  

"I think the first thing we'll do is start with the cut," said Marie. Looking me directly  in the eyes, she continued, "And then we'll get that perm processing." So that's what this was about. 

Could my snickering about the man getting a perm have precipitated this whole thing? This woman was vengeful!  

"How would you like your hair done, Missy?" asked Marie, "Maybe a nice pageboy and then a spiral perm? Or a wedged bob with lots of curls? I think you need some color, too. 

We don't normally perm and color on the same day, but you're a special  customer!"  

The fear was already running through me, and specific thoughts began to occur to me. What about my meeting at 10:00? 

What about the rest of my clients? 

What would my bosses think of my new hair?  In the end, Amelia chose my hairdo. 

She pulled a book from the shelf and showed  Marie a picture of a blonde woman with shoulder-length hair done in spiral curls and straight bangs in the front. 

Marie quickly cut my hair, blunting it at the bottom around the back, and saying "This is going to be very full when it's permed. Missy is  going to be a very pretty girl."  Then the perming process began. 

While Amelia helped, smiling all the time, Marie put the curlers in my hair. She used very skinny ones so that there would be "lots of curls." 

As she rolled each long rod in vertically, she wound my hair extremely tight and pulled my hair painfully. As she capped each roller, she would say, "There's  another set of ringlets, Missy."  

When my hair was completely wound up on the rods, Marie said, "I think I'll use a  Zotos perm. They hold for a long time." She then wrapped some cotton around my face and neck took out some lotion, and started dumping it all over my head and working it in. 

"This has a processing time of 15 minutes, so you'll have to sit still,  but I don't think you'll have a problem with that."  

For fifteen minutes, I sat in horror looking in the mirror at my head wrapped up in rollers and covered with white cream. While the perm was processing, Amelia  suggested, "Why don't we figure out his colors?" I thought she was talking about hair colors, but she grabbed a makeup chart.  

"Good thing you shaved this morning, Missy. We have a foundation that will work  for you." 

Marie took one of the little sponges like the ones that they had gagged me with and began applying the makeup all over my face. When she got to the lower part, she asked me if I could be quiet so she could take the gag out. I nodded as best as I could. She took the gag off.  

"Bitches!" I yelled right away. I began to go into an almost incoherent tirade.  Marie slapped me so hard that I think my eyes rattled. "Shut up. You will never call a woman that name again! I want you to be absolutely silent, or I will gladly make this permanent makeup. How would you like this color tattooed on your lips?" she said, holding up a bright fuschia.  

I calmed down a little bit and thought, maybe if I ride this out, it won't be so bad.  She can get her revenge and perhaps no one will have to know.  

Marie finished the foundation, and the timer went off for the perm at about that time.  Marie decided that the curl was enough, but she wanted to make sure it had set well. 

She told Amelia to warm up the dryer as she rinsed my hair and neutralized it,  with the rollers still in. I watched in horror as Amelia turned on the chair dryer and made sure the needle was at the top of the temperature range. Marie removed the cotton padding from around my head, and the girls wrestled me out of the chair and into the dryer chair.  

At first, under the dryer, I felt like it wouldn't be too bad. 

However, after about five minutes the heat was almost intolerable. The hair around the rollers was tightening up, and becoming painful. 

I broke my silence, and whined, "Can you turn it down?  It's starting to hurt!"  "Shut up, Sissy!" Marie said very loudly and forcefully. 

She grabbed the makeshift nylon gag and jammed it into my mouth and taped it down again. 

I almost passed out in the next ten minutes, but somehow managed to stay conscious. 

I think the tightening of the hair around the curlers woke me up every time I felt like I was going to drift off. It felt like the hair was going to come out at the roots.  Finally, Marie came over and lifted the dryer. I'm sure my ears were bright red. 

 Amelia helped her get me back into the makeover chair. The rollers came out, and I  had tiny ringlets of hair all over my head! Marie made sure that when she removed each roller, she pulled the strand of hair out to "inspect" it. What she was really doing was finding yet another excuse to pull my hair and cause me extreme pain.  When she was done, my head hurt but then she took out a comb and brush and combed the curls out, pulling my hair more. 

 "There," she said, swinging the chair around so that I could look in the mirror.  "Your hair is very pretty. There's no reason a man can't get a perm, now is there?  Although you're quickly becoming a woman, my little Missy."  

"Sissy Missy," stated Amelia matter-of-factly. "Let's get her makeup on so she can  be really pretty!" She was enjoying my submission at their hands.  

Once again the gag was removed from my mouth under threats of further punishment if I broke my silence. Amelia seemed to be the makeup expert, so she took over, lining my eyes in black and painting on mascara as if it were an exterior latex housepaint. She then lined my lips and painted them a bright fuschia. 

My eyes were shadowed in pink, and my cheeks were done in the same color. When they were done I  looked like a blushing bride, albeit an unhappy one. I finally opened my mouth to ask, "OK, you've made your point. I'm sorry for laughing at your other customer.  Am I done being punished?" 

 "Shut up, whiny sissy. You are under our control and you're not going anywhere for the moment, although I do hear that you have a meeting at ten o'clock. That's in a half hour. I wonder if we can get you ready that fast."  

What did she mean, get me ready? There was no way I was going to be able to go to that meeting like this!  

"OK, Amelia, get Sissy's clothes."  Oh, crap. They were going to take it a lot further, I feared.  Amelia left and came back in. Marie swung me around and said, "Look at your new  dress, dear."  It was like a picture out of the Wizard of OZ. It was a full pink dress with a huge skirt. There was lots of glittery satin fabric underlying panels of lace. 

The skirt looked like a ballerina skirt, only much fuller.  

"And we have petticoats for you, dear," said Amelia, showing me the underskirts I  would be wearing. They were frothy and white, and huge. I had no idea how all of that material would fit under that dress.  

"And tights. And pretty shoes. And a bra." Said Marie. You are going to put all of these things on without struggling. And here's why." She took out a camera and took several photographs of me bound in the chair, with my beautiful bridal hairdo and makeup.  

At this point, the only thing I could do was follow instructions and hope that things got better. At least dressing in the clothing allowed me to become unbound from the saran wrap.  Amelia first presented me with a pair of pink lace panties. "Put these on, Sissy, and  then I'll show you how to put stockings on."  Then, she showed me how to slide the lace-patterned stockings up my leg. 

It was kind of a thrilling experience, feeling the air on my skin after being bound in the salon cape and saran wrap for over an hour.  

After the panties and lace tights, she helped me into a bra/corset combination. Marie came over and laced it extremely tight, taking the same pleasure as she did when pulling the curlers in my hair tight.  

Once I had the basic undergarments on, Amelia helped me into the petticoats. The feeling of the frothy material around my legs and thighs was indescribable. In another setting, I might have almost enjoyed the feeling.  

Then the dress was carefully slid on over the other garments. Marie buttoned up the  back carefully, saying, "It's such a perfect fit." I wondered briefly how they happened to have all of these garments on hand, and how they happened to all fit me so well.  

"Turn around and look at yourself, Missy", said Marie. 

"You're like a doll."  I slowly turned to the mirror, and what I saw was a fairly attractive young lady dressed like the good witch in The Wizard of Oz. 

I was speechless and at this point wondering what else they possibly could do to me.  

"Don't forget your shoes," Amelia said, helping me put on the shiny white patent leather slippers with buckle straps. 

"You'll need them to walk over to Annunzio's."  

My heart nearly stopped. Annunzio's! How could they know where my appointment was. I began to smell a conspiracy. However, the gag prevented me from saying anything or resisting very much verbally.  

"Also don't forget that we have rather compromising pictures," Marie reminded me.  

"If you happen to decide that you don't want to play along."  

Each girl took one arm and led me toward the front of the shop. Marie clicked off all the lights and locked the front door. I found myself standing on the sidewalk in my own business neighborhood dressed like Glenda the Good Witch! 

It was rather busy, and people were already taking notice as our unique procession started down the street. At least I didn't think that most people recognized me in my currently  "altered condition."  

We walked quickly and soon arrived at the back door of Annunzio's. Marie knocked, and my wife's friend, Greta, answered the door. 

"Come in, ladies. I see you have a pretty friend with you," she said, giving me a knowing smile. I knew there was a conspiracy, but was still having trouble figuring it out.  Amelia and Marie led me into the room quickly. 

It was dim, and while my eyes were adjusting to the light, I found myself standing in front of something that looked like a low wall. Before I could resist, Marie and Amelia, one on either side of me, had snapped my wrists into shackles on top of the wall. 

Marie kicked my legs out from under me and I could finally see that they had put me in stocks, like the medieval punishment method! 

My arms were stuck through the top, with a bar over them, and  I couldn't move. I began to thrash about wildly, but the three women overpowered me and shackled my legs to the floor. 

I was in a position of being thrust forward with my arms through the stocks, my head almost hanging over the other side of the wall, and my rear end thrust out. There wasn't much room for movement.  

"I see you're on time, for once in your life," a cold voice said from the back of my room. The conspiracy fell into place. It was Sharon, my wife, clad in a black body suit and long black high-heeled shiny boots. 

"You have been mistreating women for far too long. You are rude and unsympathetic and now you are going to get the perspective of a helpless girl. We have quite a night of activities planned."  

The first "activity" was raising my petticoats and skirts in the rear and tethering them so they stayed away from my rear end. My wife walked over to a table and picked up what looked like a riding crop. 

"Who wants to be first to teach my sissy husband  a lesson?"  

Marie stepped forward and grabbed the crop. Fourteen rather stinging lashes later,  my panties and tights were in tatters and I was crying through the gag. Amelia then took her turn, and then my wife. All in all, I probably received around fifty lashes from the crop, some teasingly light and others harsh.  

"Well, it appears that we have my little sissy in submission," said my wife. "Drop  his petticoats back down to cover his little sore behind." She came to me grabbed my hair and yanked my head tight to her body. 

"Wait until you see what  your new job is."  Needless to say, after the humiliation and the domination of my wife and her conspiracy of friends, I wasn't in much of a position to dictate my own fate. 

My wife purchased an interest in the beauty shop, and I became a receptionist. They changed the marketing image of the shop to a trendier one, so it wasn't unusual for the customers to come in and find a man with a perm wearing a tutu and pink tights (or whatever costume caught my wife's fancy each morning) making their appointments.  

Most of the women thought I was "cute" and asked my wife questions about how to trap their husbands. In the months to follow, I was also forced to subjection after hours in several ways. 

I became a canvas for the women to practice on, my body became an object of torture to outlet their frustrations, and I forgot more and more what being a man felt like.  

So, if you find a business card from the "Miss Priss Salon" among your wife's things, beware. You might be the next Sissy Missy! 

My only advice for you is that if you fall into the trap, it gets a little bit easier every day. I'm starting to enjoy the feeling of silk panties, swishing crinolines, and my hair done in bridal styles. 

And during tax time, all I have to do is follow instructions, since I don't have any voice in the management of our new business.

The End.