HairSnip.com

Two endings. The asterisk at the end of the paragraph indicates the break. Whichever floats your boat.....(and feedback would be appreciated, I'd quite like to know which ending is preferred)

Cheat....

He'd never find out - and what he didn't know couldn't hurt, right? Ok, it was mercenary, and she did vaguely like him - but she really liked the trappings; superb clothes,  fabulous presents, incredible outings - he worshipped her as the goddess she knew herself to be, paying due obeisance and laying presents of the appropriate value at her feet for her acceptance or scorn as she saw fit. Only problem was she wasn't attracted him, not remotely if she was honest - oh, she went through the motions with all the right noises, then picked up other guys who hit the buttons he didn't press. He'd never know - what was the harm? And she may not like him much but she was getting very attached to his cheque-book and its ability to open up the magic kingdom of wealth and glamour she had always hankered after..... 

It was the end of another evening of a type that she'd come to know and expect; a gift; in this case the very best underwear and diamond earrings accepted with her customary insousciance, presented before dinner at the newest fad restaurant. She'd treated him almost with disdain throughout the whole evening, but he was so besotted with her - it showed in everything he did, and she despised him for it. Didn't the stupid prick realise he was being taken for a mighty ride? At times she wanted to slap him for being such a pushover, whilst knowing the whole time she was being even more of a bitch than usual - he just annoyed her so much....still, a few more expensive presents then she'd leave, when she had something to show for it. Until then....

Well, here he was, kissing her hand before pressing a glass of chilled white wine into it; she knew without even asking it would be her favourite; exclusive, expensive and elusive being much more meaningful to her mind than the actual taste. As his lips brushed her hand a frisson of contempt shivered through her; she had to get away from the minute scrutiny of his adoring gaze so without due consideration she slid away from him along the couch - a mistake, as he took it as invitation to sit next to her. He accepted with alacrity, sinking down into the sofa, sliding one arm around her shoulders and pawing at her with the other. Still, the wine would make things more bearable and the present had been of sufficient value that she'd have to put out tonight, so she took a huge swig, beat down the urge to slap him for being so pussy-whipped and plastered a determined smile across her face, holding it there with visions of Tiffany boxes. But both her avaricious musings and the smile were wiped with a grimace as the wine hit her taste-buds

"Ooh. This tastes really odd - what do you think? Its not corked or anything, just tastes - odd......"

He took the glass and tasted it properly - which in itself annoyed the hell out of her as she watched him swill it round his mouth with a questioning look on his face - why couldn't he just take a swig, like a normal man? He shrugged then handed it back with the verdict

"Seems fine to me, if a little green. Its a new year, they always have a slightly different signature. Do you want me to get you something else? I've pretty much got everything you like"

Of course he had everything she liked - that was the whole point of him. But no, she accepted the glass back; she'd get used to the slightly odd flavour, and she didn't wish to seem as ignorant of such matters as she actually was; her beauty belied her upbringing and her spectacular looks coupled to a ruthless nature and an ability to portray herself as born and accustomed to a higher station in life had enabled her to create a fine fiction, which he had never questioned. She'd need the alcohol to get her through the rest of the evening, so she settled back as, inevitably, he pulled her towards him and tucked her under his arm, stroking her shoulders and playing lazily with her hair. She gritted her teeth and fixed her gaze firmly on the television, knowing to the millilitre how much wine she'd need before being able to endure his gentle loving....

Good, she suspected nothing - he'd hoped she wouldn't even notice the difference in the wine but she'd accepted reassurance and was chugging it back - expensive wine that deserved to be savoured for the masterpiece it was, being thrown down her neck like the cheapest beer. Inevitably he'd found out what she'd been up to; she wasn't even subtle in her whoring around, picking up the roughest arseholes from the skankiest bars in town. He'd constantly ignored the subconscious voice which had

warned from the beginning that she was little better than a common tart but he'd been so blinded - the angelic exterior completely belied the devil within. And she was beautiful, figure to die for, long shining hair that reached below her waist in a tumble of dark chocolate lazy waves and a face that somehow personified innocent beauty with huge eyes and lush lips set in porcelain skin. God, she must have a portrait in the attic though - like the story, she was rotten through and through.

He'd heard the rumours alright although at first refused to accept them, but there came a point where he couldn't turn a blind eye to the obvious any more. In the end it had been one of his closest girlfriends who'd told; she helped out behind the bar in one of the places the "lady" frequented and his friend had witnessed her antics first hand - she'd finally told when she could no longer bear to see him being made such a fool of. The bar was a tough joint; his lady would have felt safe there knowing his friends would never been seen in such a dump. Shame she didn't realise the barmaid herself was a dear friend who worked there as a favour and was watching very closely...

He'd hired a detective who had unearthed the fallacious upbringing and followed her - it had taken just two nights for the man to accrue a vast dossier, more than sufficient to completely destroy any illusions he was still nursing and confirm everything he'd been told. And boy, had the bitch put on a show; the accompanying photgraphs showed his statuesque beauty in her real guise of a low-life slut. Over and over, night after night, barely dressed with teased hair and overdone make-up, out on the town and out on the make. Not only did she play up to every foul cretin in the bars, it seemed her speciality was to pick up some rough-as-shit filthy biker then spend the night drunkenly telling him he was a "real man" - unlike her " rich pussy boyfriend" who "adored her" and with whom she stayed for the gifts and pampering alone. Apparently, "real men" aren't kind and loving, they don't concern themselves with their lover's pleasures; they take what they want roughly and selfishly, and that was the way she liked it, as she loudly declared for all to hear - were there any real men in the vicinity who would satisfy her where the pussy boyfriend couldn't? It didn't worry her if they were strangers to the bathroom, and he now had the full story behind a mystery illness a while back. He'd sent orchids every day for a week whilst she apparently had the flu; turned out the antibiotics were from a dose she'd picked up from one of the revolting bastards.

His initial reaction had been to just dump her - loudly and publicly, preferably. But she'd made him look such an idiot - christ alone knew how many people in this town were talking about what a dick she was making of him. He was such a fool....and now certain things could be seen in a whole new light; the sudden hush when they'd walked into a cocktail party last week wasn't attributable to her stunning beauty, as he'd thought proudly at the time. She might just as well have "Loser" tattooed across his forehead - this was going to be gossip forever. And that's when the idea struck; he was going to humiliate her as publicly and unavoidably as she'd cuckolded him. Any time someone talked about him, they'd remember what happened to her. After tonight, she wouldn't be able to pick up the worst specimens the town had to offer for a while - not even beer goggles were going to help her out.....

He had to force himself to sit next to her on the couch and cuddle up; and now he knew it was obvious what she really felt - the offhand way she talked to him, the way she flinched slightly before relaxing into his embrace all spoke volumes, he'd just been too besotted to see it before. She'd examined the flawless diamonds minutely - assessing their value, no doubt, he thought bitterly - then thanked him in a lukewarm manner more appropriate to gaudy glass baubles from Walmart; although even plastic beads would outvalue her now as far as he was concerned. The wine was laced with vodka and a barbiturate; hence the peculiar taste; he could act every bit as well as her and she'd not realise anything was amiss until it was way too late. He was drinking iced water, he didn't want anything to cloud his remembrance of this evening, or to risk sentimentality intervening and saving her.

Meanwhile, she was throwing it back as usual and not noticing how drunk she was getting; she was cuddling up fully now and that was what he needed. He was rhythmically stroking her head and hair and she was starting to purr like a cat and snuggling in, not paying any attention at all to anything other than her own selfish pleasures - exactly as he wanted her. Earlier on he'd secreted a small amount of glue under the back of the sofa; it was the work of seconds to subtly retrieve it and start working it into the very ends of her hair under the guise of stroking her head, making one hell of a sticky, messy tangle that would never brush out. Having mashed it well in, he relaxed back with his undoctored drink, and chilled out for the next half hour or so until the glue dried... 

She yawned and stretched, lurching a little sideways - good, she was suitably drunk now that she could make the moves on him. She was feeling horny now anyway and he'd do in the absence of anything rough and hairy which was her real preference. She was mildly surprised when she sat up; she'd only drunk her normal amount yet she was definitely flying - still, she wasn't complaining, it all made it easier to tolerate his boring sexual moves - given a choice between being tied up and smacked about before virtually being raped or submitting to his gentle loving caresses, she'd be off finding the rope before he could blink, the boring bastard.

She lurched onto his knee with no real idea of how drunk she was nor how uncoordinated;  his good reflexes were all that that stopped her crashing to the floor. Swaying on his lap, she started kissing clumsily, caressing him and trying to remove her dress in her best "seductive" manner, fondly imagining herself to be enacting the sexiest stripping scene - he was amused to imagine her seeing a video playback; the unexpected alcohol made the carefully constructed facade slip and it became glaringly obvious she was merely a drunken cheap tart. Usually, he found her smudged lipstick and running eyeliner to be a massive turn-on, but that was in the days when he'd fondly imagined it was desire for him that made her like that; now she just looked like a barfly desperado. She'd wasted no time in donning the expensive underwear he'd given her earlier and now she was wearing only that as she sat on his lap, pawing his shirt open and slobbering great drunken kisses all over him.

It was all he could do not to just throw her off him but he went along with it as best he could and to be honest she was too far gone to notice any difference, even before  taking into account that her ego would never let her believe that he was responding with anything less than his usual ardour - the ardour she bitterly despised anyway. But she utterly revolted him now and he could bear no more, he had to get her off him - time to put his plan into action.

He steeled himself then kissed her fully whilst digging his hands deep into her luxuriant silken hair right at the hairline, slowly pulling his hands through from the roots to the tips. He was careful to avoid the sticky mess he'd made until the third or fourth pass, then made sure his fingers snagged on the tangle he'd created. She squeaked as she felt the sudden tug on her head and pulled back, almost falling off his lap as she tried to balance and to make sense of what he was saying through the alcohol fug.

"God, that's a hell of a tangle; let me see if I can free it...."

he pulled the section of hair over her shoulder and she tried to examine the ends of it, gazing vacantly at the huge knot

"You've got somethng in it - god knows what. Its really sticky....wonder where it came from. You must have brushed up against something...."

He left it alone, watching her intently as she tried to focus on the sticky mass - she was immensely vain about her hair and it was pampered like a beloved pet - he knew just how much; he'd agreed to pick up her salon bills and she regularly clocked up hundreds of dollars worth of haircare. It amused him to see her digging her fingers into the tangle which was getting worse by the second; instead of improving matters she was just incorporating more and more of her hair into it. Eventually he took her hands and moved them away, then stood up, saying

"Come into the bedroom where there's better light. We'll see if we can wash it out..."

She was too drunk now to stand unaided so her merely picked her up and carried her into the bedroom - she'd been so busy disparaging him that she hadn't noticed he was easily as fit as any of her bar-room pickups, and it vaguely registered with her for the first time just how strong he was. He carried her into the bedroom and put her in front of the dresser; then left her gazing adoringly at herself in the mirror, seeing herself as utterly ravishing and not registering the accurate reflection of a blowsy cheap slut. In no time he was back with a bowl of warm water and shampoo; he dipped just the ends of her hair and the huge sticky tangle into the water and started to work the shampoo in.

"I'm sorry, babe. I don't know what the hell it is but it's well and truly stuck. There's no way I'm going to be able to untangle it - "

She glared venomously as if it was all his fault and snatched the ends of her hair away from him, trying fruitlessly to wash out the offending sticky mass but she was so drunk all she was doing was making matters worse. Again, he stilled her hands, putting on his gentlest voice

"Look, this is just making it worse - more and more of your hair is getting entangled in it and it's moving further up the hair shaft. I don't see any option other than to cut it out. If you let me trim it now you'll only lose a couple of inches off the bottom and you can go to the salon tomorrow and get it straightened out. But if you leave it, its going to be much, much worse by the morning..."

He could see her trying to calculate through the fog in her mind; the tangle was only a couple of inches from the bottom of her hair and it was so long trimmimg two inches would make little difference - and after all, even if he was the cack-handed idiot she obviously took him for, just how much could he mess up trimming a straight line? He had no doubt she'd work it and work it well, swapping those two inches for something shiny and expensive. He could almost see the dollar signs in her eyes as she grumpily acquiesced, something she would never, ever have done without his little fun cocktail to lower her inhibitions, not even with her mind clouded by greed at the thought of the present she'd petulantly demand as recompense for him "ruining" her hair

"Ok. I'm really trusting you here - you can cut the tangle out then trim a straight line across at that level - not a milimetre more. Don't screw it up"

Yes! She'd fallen for it - that "two inches" was going to cost her dearly. He started combing through the gleaming mass, admiring its beauty whilst at the same time savouring the destruction he was about to wreak. The money he'd spent on it had been well worth it, with the exception of the disfiguring tangle at one side on the bottom, it was truly beautiful; it felt and looked like the richest heavy silk and there wasn't a single tiny knot or split end. He'd already prepared a spray bottle, accurately assessing she would be far too drunk to be asking any questions and he used it to dampen the ends of her hair to reassure her he was only trimming the bottom few inches and was doing his best to get a straight line. He picked up the scissors and looked up to catch her gaze in the mirror; asking if she was ready, she bit her lip and gave a tremulous nod.

"I'll cut out the tangle then you can see how high it is. Then I'll just trim a straight line across. Don't worry baby...."

She looked deeply uncertain as if sensing impending danger, so quickly, before she could formulate and utter any protest he'd picked up the mass of the tangle and sliced through her hair just above it, watching the gleaming curtain fall back into place against her waist maybe three inches higher than all the rest of her hair and leaving the sticky mess of tangle in his hand. She gasped in shock; he kissed the top of her head lightly, then told her to sit still as he prepared to cut across at the same level; it was only a couple of inches, it wouldn't look any different...

;

The atmosphere in the room was loaded with apprehension as he started at one side at about the level of her waist, combed the first narrow section of hair out and grasped it ready to cut between his fingers. The unique shirring sound was followed by a very final snip and three inches of the finest silk fell to the floor as he moved onto the next section, again combing then snipping across. He was really starting to enjoy this; she'd never been in his power before and for the first time ever she had an air of total vulnerability - it was very apparent that although she trusted him she was terrified something would go wrong, and she obviously felt very naked and exposed sitting there in nothing but her underwear and submitting to something she'd never have agreed to in a million years if she hadn't been so befuddled by the cocktail he'd given her to drink. And she was still sipping away at it for Dutch courage, not realising every mouthful made her more and more uncoordinated and powerless to stop anything that might happen.

She started to relax as he snipped slowly across the base of her hair; although it was too low down for her to see where he was cutting in the mirror she could occasionally feel the scissors against her bare back and she could feel the cut ends wafting back against her skin and it was obvious he was keeping to his promise and only cutting off the mimimum. Finally, finally he was finished and she sighed with relief, pulling her hair over her shoulder and examining the ends now that the horrible disfiguring tangle had been cut out. 

She was paying no notice to him whatsoever; she was totally oblivious to his presence and if she'd even thought about it would have assumed he was moving around clearing up. As far as she was concerned the danger was over and she was absolutely intent on her own reflection, complacently admiring herself so when the attack came it couldn't have been more of a surprise. It was so fast she didn't even see the looped rope being thrown over her head; she only started to register when he pulled it viciously tight, trapping her totally in the chair, the rope catching round her and trapping her arms against her sides. He could see the neurons trying to fire in her scrambled brain to make connections, but she couldn't really comprehend what was happening at all, although there was no doubting the wash of fear that ran through her. 

"I know, you faithless little bitch. I know it all. The skanks you pick up; the diseases the filthy bastards give you; the fact you see me as a walking bank account. You've made me a laughing stock, so now you are going to find out how that feels...."

He'd gathered her hair into a silken bunch at the nape of her neck as he hissed into her ear; he punctuated with a mighty tug on the ponytail which bought tears to her eyes and he could see her mind skittering about for a way to get her out of her predicament, although she had absolutely no idea what he was proposing to do. She went for the obvious, trying to catch his glance in the mirror and making herself look as sultry as possible, but she hadn't counted for the fact that she utterly disgusted him now, even if she wasn't far too drunk to pull off sultry - she looked like a blowsy bar-room whore. He started brushing her hair through over and over, making sure every strand was caught in his hand, as he continued to speak in an almost conversational manner belying the vitriol behind the words

"I don't want you any more - you disgust me. I suppose in theory I could just throw you out, but you see, I think you owe me. You've cost me in a million ways, so I've been thinking about how to make you repay. And, seeing as you fucked other guys when you were with me, it seems only fair you should have to go through a period of abstinence now. Anyway, all these things considered, I've decided the currency in which you'll pay..."

He tugged the ponytail again then snapped the scissors once in the air, waiting for then relishing the look of horrified disbelief that washed across her features as it finally hit home - he could read every emotion clearly in her eyes; bemusement, understanding, disbelief and finally complete terror.  She started to babble uselessly; a mixture of apologies and denials and god knows what but she couldn't comprehend why the usual tactics weren't working - he was just staring at her reflection in the mirror with a look of total blankness in his eyes - she couldn't find the puppy-dog that she'd been leading around on a leash for so long, just this ice-cold expression reflected back at her. She could move her hands but not enough to get any purchase on any part of him and she tried kicking back in total desperation but he merely reached down, wrenched her shoes off - expensive shoes she'd wheedled out of him - and threw them across the room.

She actually screamed "No!" as the scissors descended towards the nape of her neck then sputtered to silence and just watched in complete mesmerised horror as she heard them start to chew into her beautiful hair. Time slowed down so each crunch of the scissors seemed to last for hours and because she couldn't see the back of her head nothing seemed to be happening apart from this deadly, relentless noise accompanied by the horrible feeling of cold steel working against her neck. He seemed to be having some difficulty getting the scissors through the great thick mass; she saw him pull them away and hoped he'd just been intending to frighten her even as she knew that was impossible; she'd heard the scissors chewing through at least some of her hair, but all hope was quickly dispelled when the scissors went in again. Obviously this time he'd just picked out a tiny part of the mass, the horrendous crunching started again then, with the first stunningly loud snip, she felt a tiny release of the tugging on her head which she almost welcomed; he was pulling so hard that even knowing he was butchering her crowning glory she was desperate for the pulling to stop.

He was snipping into the ponytail over and over, with total concentration and determination and each snip released the tugging pressure a fraction. Although she knew logically what was happening, because she couldn't see anything she could almost tell herself that it wasn't, but she was rudely awoken from that fantasy when the first sad strand flopped forward, now released from the ponytail in the cruellest way. Tears came to her eyes as the tiny lock fell forward to rest against her cheek; rather than flowing down out of sight of the mirror as her hair had always done, it came to a horrible truncated end just below her chin.

He stopped then as they both looked at the reflection in the mirror, the comma of dark hair curving against her cheek, the natural curl of her hair released from its previous imprisonment of weight and length. Slowly, firmly, he pulled on the ponytail still in his fist until her head was forced so far back he could look down into her eyes. She didn't know what he was looking for, but he was scrutinising her so intently it looked as if he was looking into her very soul and for the first time she felt deep shame for how badly she had treated him. Although the emotion was entirely genuine, ever the opportunist she tried to project the feeling through her eyes and, as he released the pressure and pushed her head back to face forwards again she dared to hope that he was going to release her now, having given her a fearsome scare. But to no avail, and she could no longer hold back the choking sobs as she saw the scissors descend and felt them dig deep into the ponytail again.

Despite herself she couldn't stop the tears from streaming down her face, but to her amazement even though he clearly saw he didn't stop - just carried on digging the scissors in and snipping, each final snip releasing a little more chopped hair from the bunch still held in his fist. Lock by lock, more of her poor hair started to fall down around her face, only to stop at the same appalling chin length as the first strand - she was absolutely prostrate now, begging him to stop; she may lose her pride but at least if he stopped now she'd be able to keep most of her hair, and she could maybe hide the damage somehow. It was merely wishful thinking though; again and again she felt the tightening as the scissors dug in, heard the dry crunch and foul snipping then felt the release of the pulling as what looked like a ragged chin length bob drifted down around her face.

In a matter of moments that felt like hours, she felt the scissors grinding against her neck and then with a final sickening snip she could see the full horror for the first time - a hideous, ragged blunt bob that reached her chin in the front and presumably was cut right up to the nape at the back - she didn't have sufficient movement in her hands to feel, and she wasn't at all sure she wanted to anyway. He banded the ponytail then raised it high over her head; two feet of her beautiful, luxuriant hair just destroyed. He bought it to his lips and kissed it, making sure she was folllowing every move in the mirror, then bought it down over her head and played it across her shoulders and the tops of her breasts. To her utter disgust her own treacherous body responded, goosebumps raised all across the top of her body and her breasts and nipples tightened against her bra even as she begged her own being to behave.  As a final cruelty - or so she assumed, he just threw it towards the wastepaper bin where it fell draped over the side; nothing more than today's rubbish.

It had to be over now, surely? He'd got his revenge, and she didn't care if he threw her out naked as long as she could take what little of her hair remained attached to her head to the nearest hairdresser and get it sorted out somehow. She didn't want to lose another millimetre but it would have to be straightened out; however much it cost she didn't care, someone had to be able to do something to make her look better than this - her face looked rough and hard; there could not be a more unflattering haircut for her and all the inner shine and beauty seemed to have gone - it just hung, lank and lifeless, against the angle of her lower jaw, rendering her beautiful oval face square and angular. She was truly devastated; absolutely fixated on her own appalling apprearance she'd paid no attention to him, assuming that now he'd had his revenge he'd release her. And once she was free, god help him...

He came up behind her again and ruffled her poor shorn hair even as she tried to lean out of his way. In a cruel mockery of the earlier caresses, he dug his fingers in at her hairline and pulled them smoothly through the short length remaining, the long luxurious pull through she was used to merely a memory, and at the back she could feel his fingers release almost as soon as he'd dug them in - the sad remnants of her hair couldn't be longer than half an inch at her nape, if that. He seemed almost mesmerised as he played with it and when he picked up the brush again and started brushing it through it horrified her - long strokes no more, just this dreadful ragged mess that flopped back against her chin almost as soon as the brush had made contact. Deliberately cruel, he brushed it into a bunch high on her head, forcing her head to the side to make her look at the sad travesty, a tiny stub all that remained of a glorious bouncing ponytail, most of her hair too short to even reach for incorporation.

Her eyes were sparking ice-cold fire at him in their reflection; he'd done his worst so there was no point in pretending any more. 

"Let me go, you fucking bastard. You've done your worst, just untie me. Now"

He quirked an eyebrow at her then, then spoke completely dispassionately

"You still don't get it, do you? You've had it all your way long enough, you played me for a complete prick and now I'm in charge. I've done my worst? I'm sorry you don't like your new haircut - I'll see what I can do to improve it...."

Her eyes dilated massively as they fixed on his hand and what it now held,  her inner rage turning to liquid terror as he smirked and held it up, giving her the first glimpse of the horror to come - he most certainly hadn't done his worst but surely no, not this....not in her worst nightmares...

She started fighting like fury to get out of the chair, reaching as far as she could behind her and hissing, spitting incoherent rage at him. She did at one point manage to make contact with his bare chest and she raked her fingernails down it, drawing blood and making him take in a sharp breath, but it was pointless - he merely stepped back to where she could not reach him and rummaged in the drawer, emerging with a pair of handcuffs - only sex-play ones, but she knew they restrained just as well. She'd got this man so wrong; he was no vanilla pushover but it was far too late now. He calmly avoided her flailing hands; caught them both and held them easily in one of his and then her hands were cuffed in her lap.

He gently but firmly pulled her head up so she had no choice but to look in the mirror and as he turned the clippers on the pop then the insistent buzzing had to be one of the worst sounds she'd ever heard. Of course she'd encountered clippers before; she'd made a previous pushover boyfriend get his head clipped against his own will just because she could and then dumped him immediately afterwards when he was feeling denuded and ugly; but never ever had anything so brutal been near her pampered locks. He wouldn't do it though, surely, surely....

"Please, please, no....I'm sorry, I truly am. You've made your point and I already look hideous - I promise if you let me go now you'll never hear from me again, and I swear I'll put right some of the gossip...and I'll give everything back...and never...and....please, baby, please..."

But the pleas petered out in a final futile wail; she might as well have been talking to a robot - there was no indication he'd even heard her and it certainly didn't stop him. He merely pushed her head to one side as she was still begging and without further compunction held the clippers at her hairline just above her ear. He grabbed a handful of hair over her ear, and she could do nothing but watch in total horror as he started to push the clippers back into her hairline.

At first, time stretched with that peculiar elasticity it has in times of stress, and nothing seemed to happen, but as he pushed the clippers in everything came at her with a rush. She'd thought the relentless buzzing was the worst sound she'd ever heard, but that was nothing to the horrendous crackling as the whirling blades enountered her hair for the first time and started chopping it away from her head with grim efficiency. At first her gaze was fixated on the strands in his fist; it almost looked as if the hair was peeling off in a single sheet, not individual hairs at all but a uniform silken mass, a single solid curtain of near back silk. She only caught the tiniest glimpse of her head as he came to the end of the stroke at the back because the rest of her hair flopped back to cover it and once she couldn't see it she re-entered that strange zone where it wasn't really happening. What was definitely happening now though was him holding the severed clump in his fist; only four inches long but still every bit as horrifying as seeing the severed ponytail had been, then she had to endure the sensation of him just casually dropping the severed tress onto her shoulder where it lay trembling for a moment then gave in to gravity, rolling lazily down her front, over her breasts and coming to nestle in her lap.

He paused, letting her look down at the shining chocolate curl resting on her legs, and when he was fully satisfied she'd taken in the full enormity of what was happening he put the clippers against her head again, mowing another line next to the first one. This time though he went from the back fowards and he didn't collect it into his hand; she had the joint sensations of seeing and feeling a consistent stream of hair falling onto her shoulders then following the same lazy path downwards as the first lock,  but the real horror this time was her head - he used his spare hand to hold the rest of her hair out of the way and so there was nothing to stop her from seeing the awful sight left behind. Her wonderful flowing chestnut locks were nothing more than discarded trash; she had nothing but the shortest brown pelt covering her skull, probably only a quarter of an inch long if that. It was incomprehensible; it was her face, her body, her reflection, but she could not organise her mind to take this in at all.

This time when he released the clippers, instead of moving onto the next line as would be logical, he placed them right in the middle of her forehead and, holding her eyes intently in the mirror, drove them back into her hairline, straight down the middle of her head. Although she'd known logically this would happen, there was no way she could have prepared herself for it; she could do nothing but watch helplessly as a line of stubble appeared right down the centre of her head with sheets of hair cascading onto her shoulders. She was crying in earnest; all her carefully applied makeup was running down her face and she looked abhorrent - she shut her eyes against the agony of watching any more. Up until that point she'd almost persuaded herself he'd stop and she'd somehow be able to get a hairdresser to sort it out, but there was no way she could hide behind that comforting illusion any more - the hair left on her head wouldn't even be long enough to put extensions in.

Seeing her close her eyes against the ravaged image she presented, he firmly tipped her head forward; as he'd anticipated it forced her to open her eyes again because all the doctored booze was making her head whirl. Still, at least she didn't have to look at the appalling travesty of herself in the mirror any longer and she just kept her head down as she felt the clippers press in again at the back of her head and the now familiar crackling as they began their determined path upwards, cleaving everything that fell under the relentless blades. Of course though, she hadn't anticipated that this position would give her an unimpeded view as all the shorn hair fell from her head and straight into her lap. And she couldn't believe how much there was; even after he'd cut most of it off in the ponytail there still seemed to be an astonishing amount falling into her lap - soft, the colour of the richest dark chocolate and shining; she'd almost rather have a finger amputated than this horror.

She was the picture of abject misery, hanging her head in the total humiliation he'd sought and with tears pouring from her eyes as he methodically mowed straight from the back of her head and over, line after line without pause. He'd actually wondered whether he could do this or whether he'd just give her a scare and then release her but he was finding this an immense turn on - he'd never appreciated the erotic potential of a haircut before, nor that of having a completely submissive captive, and his total domination of the situation was massively arousing - she'd misunderstood him grievously and now she was seeing the ruthlessness that had made the money to buy the trinkets she'd taken for granted. He was starting to slow down now, stretching out the agony for her and enjoying the sight of the clean smooth lines of short hair appearing behind the hungry blades and relishing every clump that finally fell forward in a stream over her eyes. He was doing his best to make sure that as much as possible cascaded down her body but inevitably some ended up on the floor, and there was extra pleasure in the feeling of trampling in something that was so precious to her - just as she'd trampled all over his feelings; maybe now she'd think twice before cuckolding some other guy, the mercenary bitch. 

All too soon though he'd clipped the whole of her head, and it was with some regret he mowed the final lines over her other ear and then ran the clippers quickly over her whole head in case he'd missed a single hair. The silence as he turned the dreadful contraption off was as thick as soup; she merely sat slumped in the chair, too exhausted to cry any more and refusing to look at her reflection. Her unconditional surrender was so arousing he wished he'd drawn the whole scene out; he hadn't anticipated how much he'd enjoy the shearing itself, having only concentrated on the end result but her reaction as he grasped her head in both hands and held it upwards, forcing her to confront her new reflection in the mirror more than made up for any fleeting rueful thoughts. There was no way the ropiest guy was going to rate her now; she had black marks all down her face from her reddened eyes and her hair - even he flinched as he took in the full enormity of what he'd wrought. Some girls could carry off such a severe haircut, but she'd be under no illusion that she couldn't - her features were solid and angular; she needed a flowing mane to soften the lines of her face. Her ears looked freakishly huge, her neck scrawny and her chin seemed to jut out - he smirked to himself, she looked as ugly on the outside now as she was on the inside and she deserved to. She bought her handcuffed hands up to her mouth and just stared in horror - this was worse than anything she could ever have imagined happening to her and there would be nothing she could do to rescue the situation. Absolutely nothing; a torrent of fresh tears coursed down her face and onto the sad little pile of shorn hair in her lap.

Her head wilted, a plucked daisy with the petals pulled off, and she played with the strands in her lap, completely oblivious to what was going on around her - she didn't care anyway, things couldn't get any worse. He'd release her whenever he felt like it, but it didn't matter now - what was the point? She'd sneak home and not be able to leave the house anyway, although she still held a tiny hope that she'd be able to get extensions put in before too long; surely they only needed an inch or so of hair to fix them onto? Although how the hell would she pay for them? It didn't take Einstein to work out she would no longer be welcome at the chic salon she'd frequented on his tab.

She was lost in her reveries as he organised his final preparations; he knew damn well her first thought would be extensions and he was going to make sure they weren't a possibility for as long as possible. The bowl of warm water was still there from where he'd started all this (the two inch trim had turned out to be just a little more drastic!) and as her hair was now so short it was a matter of seconds to wet it down. As he put something on her head it finally penetrated her senses, and she looked up to confront the horror in the mirror again - she couldn't make sense of this, why the hell was he shampooing her hair? That's the only thing she could think of; her head was now covered in a stiff white foam - why the hell would he cut all her hair off then shampoo the poor remaining stubble? 

Ending 1

She shrieked as he produced a straight razor, surely, surely he wouldn't do that? She already looked like a freak and there was no way she'd be able to do anything for a while. She closed her eyes, whimpering in distress, expecting to feel the cold steel start running lines across the stubble on her head. She couldn't see what he was doing, she could just feel the tiniest of strokes on the back of her head; if he was truly shaving it surely....?

But no, he'd grabbed a towel and wiped all the gunk off, and there she was again, the appalling apparition in the mirror that couldn't possibly be her. It was almost Samsonesque, shearing her hair had reduced her completely; she was smaller and had none of the air of command he'd always known her have - the ravishing beauty was gone, she was a mere shell of her former self and there was nothing left, no fight, no words - nothing but tears pouring silently down her cheeks, leaving great black rivulets of make-up behind.

All fight had left her as he finally undid the handcuffs and untied the rope; rather than leaping at him she could do nothing more than raise trembling hands to her poor head. It felt strange beyond belief, she'd never even had short hair and she just could not equate this scrawny shaven creature with herself. Her head seemed over-sensitised; every tiny little breeze or touch massively magnified and she could do nothing but cry a river and run her uncomprehending hands over and over her head. She was vaguely aware of him leaving the room then he was back, and tossing her dress at her he said

"Out. Now. And I never ever want to see you again. You can keep the presents - I've been paid sufficient..."

He'd retrieved her ponytail  at some point and used it to wave goodbye to her mockingly, before sealing himself into the other room. And she realised he wasn't going to drive her home, or even give her money for a cab. She was going to have to brave the subway looking like a freak... 

He poured himself a well-deserved drink, toasting himself as he sat and stroked the ponytail on his lap. A slight discomfort reminded him and he reached into his pocket, retrieving the earrings which he'd removed from her bag - an extra bonus; he'd get his money back and she'd be furious when she found out she'd been cheated of them as well. He heard her still snivelling as she moved around the bedroom, and smiled to himself as he wondered how she was going to fare on the subway - her carefully applied make-up in runnels down her face, her party dress - and the word "CHEAT" shaved into the back of her stubbled head.....

Ending 2 

The reason didn't hit her until he actually started - he'd produced a straight razor and, tipping her head to the side he was following the exact same path as the clippers had taken. Only this time, they weren't leaving behind a pelt of soft fur, the razor was leaving nothing but the purest white skin. She was beyond shocked now, and she watched in benumbed amazement as he took the tiniest strokes, cleaning the razor regularly. At one point he even ran his tongue along the line he'd just shaved, making her shudder in revulsion; seeing this he just smirked at her and then carried on his terrible depredations. She wasn't even thinking any more, after all, short of actually cutting her head off, there wasn't much more he could do to her. And she was vain and a player; she'd almost rather be dead than be left walking around like this. However hopefully you looked at it, there was no way extensions could be attached to....absolutely nothing.

Over and over, the razor did not miss one single tiny hair on her head, and a detached part of her marvelled that he could wield it so expertly without nicking the delicate skin of the scalp. She caught sight of the clock in the mirror and was astonished to find that in the space of little more than half an hour he had reduced her from a ravishing beauty to the alien now exposed in the mirror. And, as he finally finished then rubbed any excess cream off her head, an alien is exactly what she looked like - massive eyes, massive ears on this scrawny little neck, and her head was so white, it looked so vulnerable. 

All fight had left her as he finally undid the handcuffs and untied the rope; rather than leaping at him she could do nothing more than raise trembling hands to her poor head. It felt strange beyond belief, she'd never even had short hair and she just could not equate this scrawny bald creature with herself. Her head seemed over-sensitised; every tiny little breeze or touch massively magnified and she could do nothing but cry a river and run her uncomprehending hands over and over her head. She was vaguely aware of him leaving the room then he was back, and tossing her dress at her he said

"Out. Now. And I never ever want to see you again. You can keep the presents - I've been paid sufficient..."

He'd retrieved her ponytail from the floor at some point and used it to wave goodbye to her mockingly, before sealing himself into the other room. And she realised he wasn't going to drive her home, or even give her money for a cab. She was going to have to brave the subway looking like a freak, complete with her dinner dress and bald head...

He poured himself a well-deserved drink, toasting himself as he sat and stroked the ponytail on his lap. A slight discomfort reminded him and he reached into his pocket, retrieving the earrings which he'd removed from her bag - an extra bonus; he'd get his money back and she'd be furious when she found out she'd been cheated of them as well. He heard her still snivelling as she moved around the bedroom, and smiled to himself as he wondered how she was going to fare on the subway - her carefully applied make-up in runnels down her face, her party dress and a completely bald head.....

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