HairSnip.com

Allison is frozen on her spot.

She shivers a little in her simple white gown, the same as all the other models wear, though it’s hot more than cold at the boomy hairshow.

She knows it must be her turn, as Sarah, the girl before her, is getting up from the chair to the applause of the crowds; she turns around, showing off her newly buzzed blonde locks. One of the hairdressers is sweeping Sarah's long hair to a corner of the stage, where a girl is waiting, already overstuffed trashbags full of hair all around her.

Allison feels the warm hand on her shoulder, hears the "it's your turn" from the asistant behind her. She takes an automatic step forwards, through the part in the heavy curtains, steps up to the chair, passing the smiling Sarah on the way, and sits down.

Her ass has barely touched the seat when she feels the familiar tug of a comb, from the three hairdressers intent on her like sharks on easy prey.

The hairdresser to her left is combing out the now deep black sides of her hair, and cutting off the very tips, making it sharp and neat. The one to her right is doing the same, the sensation familiar, safe.

But behind her, she can hear that buzzing sound. She feels a strong hand holding out the broad section front i the back they dyed bright magenta backstage Suddenly, she feels the guide on the clippers hit her nape. She can feel it combing upwards, the tone deepening, the hair falling, up, up, all the way to the top of her head,

So rapid.

Another stroke.

Another.

The back of her head feels odd; light, cold. Numbed, she watches as a guy carefully seperates the similarly magenta hair in front, holds it out and clippers it off out of sight, over her eyes somewhere. She feels the guide on her forehead.

A gust of hair spray, a couple more chops in front and back, and they step back.

The crowd cheers at her stunning new look, Allison turns around as instructed to show the crowd the contrast between the gleaming black nipple-length sides and the strip of inches-long fluffy magenta at the back and the spiky magenta fringe, takes a last look at all the lifeless, dead hair on the floor, and walks out, passing another girl with doomed long hair on her way.

Amy's waiting behind the curtains.

She's watched Allison getting shorn, her resolve wavering a little as she watched the speed at which these hairdressers changed a sweet inocent-looking girl into something a whole lot more punk and provoking. She knows her own waist-length red irish curls will join the rest of the offcuts in just a few minutes.

Bravely, she steps forwards at the prompt, giving the now punky girl a warm smile on the way in.

Her white robe hits the chairs leather, and she can already feel the hairdressers breathing on her ears, hear the angry buzz of their clippers. ?Almost simultaneously, three sets of clipper guides hits her skin; one very loud just in front either ear, one at the center of her nape. time seems to slow, and it seems she can feel every straw being severed, so close to the skin, and feel it jump, tumble and slide down the white dress to the waiting floor. Some of Allison’s magenta and black hair is still down there; her own copper-red curls seem eager to join the pile.

Hair rains to the floor, and Amy feels like she can count each straw cut, as the clippers mow the hair on the back and both sides of her head down to millimeters.

Julie’s the star of the show, and she’s made damn certain that everyone behind the curtains knows it. Her beautiful face, full yet slim body, 6’8 height, fierce eyes, sharp tongue and proud poise, plus the perfect, thick, natural red, arrow-straight hair cascading down her back to easily touch her butt, has cowed every single one of the other models.

The team’s toned her sides nearly black, dyed a slim stripe down the center of her head, front to back, the most fiery orange available, and given the rest slim streaks in 6 tones of bright red, orange and yellow.

Without waiting for her cue, she steps thru the curtains in her best thoroughbred horse impersonation stride, passing the spiky pixied Amy with nary a glance, and sits in the chair with all the air of a queen taking her rightful throne, the piles of hair around her feet crunching under her high heels as she swings her head making her perfect hair swing in a curtain around her.

No clippers for her; the hairdressers section off the top and dive into either side with comb over scissors. Meter-long locks jump at their command, slip, topple and slide down the simple white gown to the floor, leaving the softest, blackest pelt around her ears, while the hair down her back is trimmed minimally, coming to a sharp line at the seat of the chair, then merged with the short sides hehind her ears. Expertly sculpting, the scissors trim the sections above her ears and atop her head to stand straight out, each lock a bit longer than the one below it, each lock supporting the one above it, making the hair down the center stand to attention with a minimum of hairspray in a tapering mohawk a full 20 cm tall at the front, the ends of the orange stripe sticking out in all the deep dark, the streaks accenting the effect. In the back, the mohawk fans out and topples, merging seamlessly with the cascade still running down her back.

Finished, Julie stands up, shakes her head like dog shaking off water, and struts off the stage in triumph, looking for all the world like a volcano in heels, a line of glowing lava meandering down her back.

Rate this story now.
5- Excellent 4- Very good 3- Good 2- Needs work 1- Poor  

Enter some comments about this story or see what others have said on the forums.