THE FOSTER HOME

BY KIDBARBER2

“I can’t believe we have to move because of that stupid foster home,” sniffed 15-year-old Heather to her friend Alison as she finished packing another box with her belongings. “Except for school, you and I will hardly see each other til we get our driver's licenses.”

“Don’t worry," soothed Alison, lifting Heather's head toward her, cradling her face in her hands and using her thumbs to wipe away the girl's tears. "I'm sure we can get rides to each other’s house every now and then, or else take the bus.”

"Yeah, but you know it's not going to be the same," replied Heather, choking back more tears. "Besides, if our parents find out what we've been doing over here on weekends, they'll never let us see each other again."

"We just have to keep being careful, that's all" Alison whispered as she drew her friend's head closer and opened her mouth to receive Heather's tongue. Having your best friend from high school move away was hard enough, but when the "friend" was also your lesbian lover -- and the first and only girl you'd ever been sexual with -- well, that was ten times harder.

“I knooow," pouted Heather after the two had kissed, "it just... it just pisses me off that we have to move because of them.”

Them were the kids in the foster home next door to Heather’s house. Her parents and other neighbors had taken their complaints to the zoning board many times, but all they'd ever gotten was a promise from the foster mother to stop taking in the teenagers who had wreaked so much havoc on the neighborhood. Not that it did much good, for the 10-13 year olds the foster mother now took in were just as bad.

“Was that the doorbell?” asked Alison, removing a hand from Heather's face to turn down the stereo.

“Dunno... I’ll go see,” said Heather, perturbed at whoever it might be for interrupting her time alone with Alison. Heading downstairs, she opened the front door to find an angry looking woman with a briefcase. Beside her, an equally angry girl of about ten.

“It’s about time!” snapped the woman, brushing past Heather and dragging the little girl behind her. “Look, I’m already late for my next home visit. Tell your foster mother this is the kid she agreed to take for the night. Any questions, she can call my supervisor. Got it?”

“Yeah, but... I mean, this isn’t...”

“Look Honey, I don’t have time for this,” shot back the woman, already reaching for the door Heather had just closed. “Your foster mother’s expecting this kid, alright? Just let her know she’s here. I gotta get going.” Without so much as a goodbye, the lady turned and headed to her car.

“Hey, does this kid have a name?” shouted Heather after her, an idea having already come to her.

“Jessie!” shouted the woman without even turning around.

“Hi Jessie... welcome to the foster home,” said Heather as she closed the front door.

“Shut up,” spat the girl angrily, “just show me to my room and leave me the fuck alone.”

“Weeeelllll, aren't we a happy little camper!" Heather chided, "I'll go see if it's ready." Bounding up the stairs, Heather was practically out of breath when she reached Alison. “Hey Ally, you’ll never guess who’s downstairs! A foster kid... a new foster kid I mean. She doesn’t even know this isn’t the foster home!”

“So tell her it's next door and send her on her way,” replied Alison, not knowing why her friend was so excited about their unexpected visitor.

“You’re not getting it... she already told me to shut up! She’s one of those little punks who’s forcing my family to move. Just think of what we can do to this little cunt before my parents come home!” It took a little more explanation before Allison understood what Heather was getting at, but when she did, she was every bit as excited as her friend. After a few more moments spent planning their strategy, the girls turned off the light in Heather’s room and headed downstairs.

“My name’s Heather, and this is Alison. The foster mother’s not home right now and your room’s not ready either, so I suppose Alison and I can do your intake.”

“What do you mean intake... I’m just here for the night,” snarled the none-too-pleasant little Jessie, her face barely visible beneath the sharply curved bill of her baseball cap.

“Doesn’t matter, everyone has to go through it. Come on upstairs and let’s get started.”

“Fuck you, I ain’t goin nowhere,” muttered the girl as she went to take a seat on the living room sofa. Before she even reached it, Alison grabbed her from behind in a headlock and swung her around to face Heather.

“Listen you little bitch, we're running the show here, you got that?” spat Heather, her face only inches away from Jessie's "Now are you gonna cooperate or do we have to do this the hard way?"

"I'll... I'll cooperate," muttered a more humble Jessie, knowing she was no match for the two 15-year-old girls. "Just make this quick...I could really use some sleep.”

“No problem," said Alison as she and Heather led Jessie up the stairs and into the bathroom, "let’s start by weighing you." A surprised look came over Jessie's face, but tired as she was she decided it was best to go along with her hosts' demands.

“Fifty-six pounds,” said Alison moments later as she helped Jessie off the bathroom scale. “How tall are you.... five feet?”

“Four ten,” replied Jessie sheepishly.

“Okay, go stand by the sink and take your pants and shirt off.”

“Take off my what?"

“Just do it!” shouted Heather with as mean a look as she could muster. “Foster mother wants us to check for bruises on all the new kids, that way she can’t be accused of having put ‘em there herself.”

As strange as the request was, it actually made sense to Jessie, for despite her tender years she'd been to enough foster homes to know they weren't always the best of places. Self-consciously she began removing her jeans and T-shirt while Heather and Alison looked on.

“Nothing on the arms, back and stomach,” reported Heather moments later. "Now, take off your panties."

"What are you, a fuckin dyke?" snarled Jessie, turning toward the door and reaching for the T-shirt that lie crumpled atop the bathroom counter. "I'm not taking off my fuckin panties for you two bitches!"

Before she could take a step, Heather and Alison tackled her and pressed her nearly-naked little body hard against the edge of the sink. Jessie fought back, but it was futile, managing only to knock her baseball hat off in the ensuing struggle.

"Oh shiiiit!" Alison gasped as Jessie's long, honey-brown mane unravelled itself, swinging back and forth between her captors before finally coming to rest against the small of her back.

"Weeeellllll...," smiled Heather, her face having just been brushed by the freshly-washed hair. "It looks likes our little tomboy is a real girl after all!"

"F... Fuck this!" snarled Jessie, freeing her mouth from the hand Alison had clamped over it during the struggle. "I'm calling my caseworker... no fuckin way am I staying here tonight."

“In case you haven’t figured it out yet, this isn’t the foster home!” barked Heather, her face inches from Jessie's but unable to take her eyes off the girl's hair. The thought came to her in a flash, and one sideways glance toward Alison told her that she'd been thinking the same thing. It hadn't been part of their plan, but even the best of plans was made to be broken.

"Ally, can you handle her while I run downstairs for a minute?"

"Suuuuure... it'd be my pleasure," answered her friend, grabbing Jessie from behind and planting her feet firmly to keep the little girl from getting away. "Take your time, Heather... I'll just enjoy burying my face in all this lovely hair."

Things were getting weirder and weirder for little Jessie. Though convinced now that her captors intended to humiliate (if not outright harm) her, she was confused by the tender, almost loving breaths and moans coming from the girl whose arms were wrapped tighly around her naked torso. Gazing ahead into the mirror, Alison must've seen the look of confusion on Jessie's face.

"Don't worry, Sweetie... lots of girls your age look cute with short hair," groaned Alison as she planted her face in the hair, kissing it lightly. "Heather and I are gonna do a reeeaaalll nice job taking all this off." Jessie's body went rigid as she realized now what the girls intended to do. Arching her little body as far forward as possible, she suddenly reared sharply backward, trying to headbutt Alison but instead landing only a glancing blow."

"You're gonna be REAL sorry you tried that," snarled Heather, returning to the bathroom now with a black plastic case in hand. "I may have been content just hacking off a few handfuls of hair, but seeing as how you tried to hurt my girlfriend, well, I suppose now all bets are off."

Jessie didn't know whether to apologize or keep fighting. As much as she dressed and acted like a little tomboy, at night when nobody was looking she'd always loved to stroke her long hair, remembering back years ago when her now drug-addicted mother would spend half the morning it seemed brushing it out and making it look pretty. Travelling from foster home to foster home now with little except the clothes on her back, her long thick hair had become a sort of security blanket, a pillow upon which to rest her head, a memento of better times and a better life.

Though the memories helped to calm her some, when she turned her attention to the present she saw that the black plastic case lay open atop the counter, and that both her captors had already gone through it looking for what they needed. Still wedged against the edge of the sink, Jessie looked helplessly on in the mirror as Heather and Alison took up positions on either side of her.

"Not so tough NOW, are you little bitch?" sneered Heather as she grabbed a fistful of Jessie's mane and pulled hard. Wincing with a combination of pain and discomfort from the bright overhead light into which she now stared, Jessie heard and felt the awful sound of scissors -- no, TWO pair of scissors -- hacking away at the back of her head.

"You tried to hide all this from us, didn't you little Jessie?" said one of her captors breathlessly. "Yessirree... little Jessie somehow knew what two dykes like us would do if we got our hands on all this gorgeous hair!"

Humiliating at it was, the monologue muted to some degree the awful sound of the big steel scissor blades hacking their way through Jessie's precious hair. Yet, nothing could hide the forward jerk of her head moments later as the scissors temporarily halted their assault.

"How do you like your hair now?" said one of the girls as a thick, velvety soft hank of it was shoved in Jessie's face. Try though she did, she couldn't help but breathe in its wonderful, baby-shampood scent. Tears came to her eyes as she realized -- too late, obviously -- that her shower this morning would turn out to be the last time she'd run her fingers through this long, soft mane of hers.

If she didn't want her captors seeing her tears, Jessie had little to fear for as soon as the first hanks of cut hair were tossed into the sink, she felt her head get pushed sharply downward, and heard once again the awful shnikking sounds of the scissors going to work. This time the assault lasted longer. Much longer. The clacking of the scissors echoed loudly off the walls of the confined space, reminding Jessie of a movie she'd seen in school about the Holocaust -- women being forced to sit on benches as other prisoners hacked at their hair with dull, rusty shears, tossing all the cut hair into big piles atop a long table. There may not have been a long table before her now, but through her tears Jessie looked on as the faucet handles -- and, in fact, most of the counter -- soon became buried beneath piles of her long cut hair.

"My hand is getting tired," said Alison, though with a hint of glee in her voice. "You can keep chopping if you want. I'm gonna get the clippers."

Later on, after it was all done, Jessie didn't know why the comment had unnerved her so much. After all, it's not like her head would've looked much better had the two girls continued hacking away at her hair with the scissors. The electric clippers were just another tool. Yet, the mere mention of them had brought forth a torrent of tears from the little girl, sending a chill down her spine that caused goosebumps to erupt all over her trembling, naked little body.

"Awwww... poor little Jessie's having a good cry," taunted Heather, grabbing hold of the girl's bangs and pulling her head up so she'd have a good view of the mirror. The carnage on the counter was even worse than Jessie had thought. With her head held down her peripheral vision hadn't allowed her to see the big, jumbled piles of hair off to either side of the sink. Though she knew otherwise, it didn't even look like her hair anymore. It seemed darker, and nowhere near as shiny as she knew it to be.

Jessie saw herself flinch as Alison flicked the clippers to life with a loud CLACK. The gentle humming that followed may have been easier on her ears, but it was no less frightful to her cold, quivering flesh. "Start here," she heard Heather say, holding up a section of her bangs while Alison placed the clippers squarely on her forehead. The clippers snarled briefly as they acclimated themselves to the thickness the hair, then purred gently as Alison maneuvered them slowly backward down the length of Jessie's head.

"Niiiiiiice!" breathed Heather deeply, pulling away a thick handful of hair, the long, neatly-shorn ends shimmering and swaying beneath the light before being tossed into the sink. "Turn her around so we don't get any more hair on the floor."

With all the resistance now drained from her body, Jessie allowed herself to be turned around so that the small of her back now pressed against the edge of the sink. A fresh wave of tears streamed down her cheeks as she realized the final phase of her torment had begun. Closing her eyes, she felt the clipper cord slide up and down her face, marking the start and finish of each new pass of the clippers along the top and down the back of her head. So rhythmic did it all feel now that she barely noticed when Heather pulled down her little panties. Funny, she thought, as cold as the rest of her body felt, there had been a strange warmth coming from between her legs ever since the haircut (if you want to call it that) had begun. The warmth intensifed and spread rapidly, and the feel of Heather's lips and tongue as it darted between in and out of her little pussy wasn't exactly unwelcome. Jessie didn't know precisely when her moans of anguish turned to groans of pleasure. Perhaps it was when that sweet, warm moistness began to flow between her legs... the moistness that Heather seemed to enjoy licking so much and allowing it to smear her face.

It was dark by the time Heather and Alison delivered Jessie to the doorstep of the foster home next door, rang the bell, and ran like hell. It had been at least a couple hours since they'd led their little bald friend out of the bathroom and into Heather's bedroom. There they'd taken turns wedging her smooth little head between their legs, sometimes kissing each other while the other fingered herself using a thick soft lock of Jessie's hair. No matter the trouble they may get into later on, and no matter how far the two might become separated, they would always have this memory, and Jessie's hair, to share.