HairSnip.com

For S. With.... 

Punishment  

So, he'd done it again, loudly and publicly enough for the gossip to make its way gleefully back to me. The rules weren't complicated to understand or arduous to stick to; all it needed was a little bit of care, a little discretion - but obviously he couldn't be bothered. 

I was really angry - hurt, distressed, pained, unhappy - but most of all angry. It was ok for him; he was the young stud in this scenario but I was the one who stood to look like a complete idiot - mooning about over a boy half my age who got away with treating me like shit. I rarely care what people think, but I do have my pride and I did not wish to be perceived as a sad old woman yearning after her faithless toyboy lover. And the little shit knew it - yet he couldn't have copped off more publicly if he nailed his bimbo in the town square. Tosser. 

Still, he was absolutely convinced I was besotted, and that is one thing you do learn with age - you take enough knocks until you realise you don't die from broken hearts; after that everything is just a little bit more in perspective. If he thought I knew at all he'd expect me to react as his little girls would and he'd be met by a weeping wreck throwing herself upon him. Well, things weren't going to go quite his way for once; yes I adored him but I could quite easily walk away - well, I could  convince him it was easy; in actuality it was going to hurt like hell. But the other thing learned with age is how to hide your emotions; I could read him like a child's storybook but he needed things obvious, which always worked in my favour. 

I knew he'd be over that afternoon, so I made sure I looked the dog's; I know what works for him and I was making sure he'd see exactly what his actions were going to lose him. But I wasn't going for obvious; this was subtle - a loose black top that always "accidentally" fell off one shoulder, skinny black jeans that somehow made my legs look slightly longer and boots with killer heels - we'd had fun with them before and he had a permanent memory in the shape of a scar on his chest from last time they'd been brought out to play, so it was worth the agony of ramming my feet into them. I'd redyed my hair black because that was his preferred colour and it was pulled up off my neck in his favoured style. Pale make-up, cats-eye eyeliner and I was his ultimate fantasy babe; all I had to do now was wait for him to appear. 

Sure enough, he bounced in - late - with not a care in the world; I'd left the door on the latch so he walked into the scene I wanted him to see. My legs were crossed with the killer boots propped on the table in front of me, and I just "happened" to  be lighting a cigarette as he came in - the greatest flag of all; he knows I only smoke for effect. His eyes lit up at first, obviously expecting this was a prelude to fun but the thick silence eventually transmitted and I watched the emotions run cleanly across his vacant  little face - excitement, concern, worry, but I just kept my eyes on him, letting him fidget, watching his eyes dart about as he tried to work out what was happening. When he was thoroughly discombobulated, standing like a little boy awaiting a telling-off with eyes clouded with worry, the tiniest wave of one pointed toe indicated the chair behind him. He seemed to think about sitting next to me on the sofa instead and made a move towards me, but one quick movement of the killer heels gave him pause and he sank into the chair opposite like a condemned man. 

So..." I finally spoke after a few moments of my best specimen-on-a-glass-slide-glare "...remind me what the agreement between us was again?" I played with the cigarette, knowing he'd find it mesmerising and throwing him even more off balance - probably wondering if I'd decide to stub it out on his hand.... 

Realisation dawned, followed by horror - he knew exactly what I was talking about, and if he had any sense at all he wouldn't even think about arguing or denial. I'd defenestrate the little fuck if he even tried.... 

"I see you know what I am talking about? I've always told you I don't want to know what you get up to with your little plastic girlfriends, but you don't seem to able to grasp how much they gossip - word gets round, you know. They just cannot resist; they all think its love ever after - they don't realise its all just a game to you. But I do, and I told you last time - make a choice. I guess you have done..." 

And that was the crux of the matter - I didn't want commitment, I didn't want a future, I didn't even ask for fidelity. All I asked that he be subtle enough that I never find out what he got up to. I know he didn't understand but he didn't need to; he could do whatever the hell he wanted with whoever he could persuade to do it with him - he just had to exert a tiny modicum of judgement and make sure it didn't end up town gossip. But this wasn't the first time; last time he'd been warned that there were no more chances. Hence the scar... 

He stuttered into justification mode then, smoothing and crawling, knowing he had the moves - I don't think he ever thought I really would walk away and the concept was beyond the ken of his vain little personality - all he had to do was find the right words, but as I continued to sit there in studied indifference it started to dawn on him that this time perhaps he couldn't slime his way out of it; whatever the right words were they weren't happening for him. And, of course, he's a typical male - give them an inkling they can't have something any more and that is all they want. It was almost comical as the finality of it all started to register; I could see him running a film reel of all his little girlfriends then comparing them against me and realising he'd screwed up irrevocably. He stood and reached towards me only to find a basilisk glare stopping him in his tracks as the litany of pointless words slowed to a trickle and sputtered out, leaving him standing there with his hands stretched out imploringly towards me. I let the silence grow, watching him fidget, watching him watching me as he tried to work out what was going on behind the poker-face. The words when they came dropped like lead balls into the already heavy silence: 

"Not interested. I told you from the very beginning how it needed to be and you can't exactly say the rules were strict - all you had to do was show a little discretion and you could do whatever you wanted. But maybe its too hard, or I'm not worth just a little bit of caution on your behalf - either way, you've made your choice. Whatever, I guess we're done. Hope she was worth it... You know where the door is..." 

That floored him as reality hit home and he started to babble; he really had not believed I would be able to dump him without so much as a flicker - of course, I knew there was much more than a flicker inside but he was falling for the act completely - exactly as I wanted him to. He'd wounded my pride so that was exactly where I was going to kick him; I'm not sure he'd ever been dumped before and certainly not by someone acting as emotionlessly as if they were ordering a cup of tea. This time he did move over towards me so I lifted one of the killer spike heels off the table and placed my foot over his groin with the heel against his balls, daring him to come any further. 

He was silent again, just standing there looking like a kicked puppy - which infuriated me even more; he must think I was born yesterday if I'm going to fall for the big baby blues peeking shyly through the hair. God, he infuriated me - stupid little girls may fall for it, but come on...I pushed hard with the foot against his groin, standing up as he stumbled away and up started to plead in earnest 

"No. I told you. Really, just go - there isn't anything else to say." 

And I walked past him into the bedroom; he was dismissed. He was no longer part of my world and I woud ignore his physical presence until he gave up and went away. But I wished he'd do so quickly; however impressive this looked on the surface I was really hurting and I was desperate to maintain composure until he left, when I could sink into a bottle of vodka and a long therapeutic howl. 

But he followed me and slumped down on the bed with his head in his hands; the absolute picture of dejection - it was obvious this had hit him much harder than he'd realised it would. Of course, I wanted him to hurt too, but it seemed such a waste; we had great times together and for the want of a little discretion that could have continued. I was determined to say nothing so there was no handle for him to latch on,  but I found myself speaking anyway. I didn't shout or scream, just spoke very quietly, and it was obvious that this had far more impact than throwing any amount of crockery around would have done. 

"Just because you are a young good looking guy - and you know damn well how pretty you are - you think that you can behave however you want and I'll always come crawling back. Well, you may be young and gorgeous, but believe me you aren't doing me any favours being with me - I don't need you, I can pick up a million like you, vapid little shits not being a rarity round here. You were the lucky one, sunshine, but you screwed it up and there's no point whining now. You just think that shaking the pretty hair about and gazing winsomely through the great big baby blues is always gonna get you out of whatever crap you've landed yourself in - and in the shallow world you live in, you are probably right...So, welcome to the real world, where actions have consequences, you stupid, pathetic child" 

It was calculated to hit a nerve; not only the reference to his childish behaviour, but he knew full well how empty of meaning most of his life was - an endless succession of identical people doing identical things because that is what the golden people did. I was a step outside that world and suddenly life totally within its embrace again looked very bleak. He is a beautiful specimen, long brown hair with natural summer highlights fell to his shoulders; his skin was immaculate, he worked out so he was ripped - but I knew he'd found more meaning in my rough and ready world than in all of his airbrushed little life so far. When he does the puppy dog eyes I laugh; when he looks through his hair I tend to pull it hard and he's enjoyed having to use his mind for once rather than everything just falling in his lap. Little girls that worshipped him on the side were one thing, but he didn't want to have to go back there permanently. A future full of endless identical pointless conversations and nice vanilla sex was beckoning, and it didn't appeal. He'd tasted the edges of danger, and he was learning you can't go back. 

As he sat on the bed stumbling over apologies and pleas for clemency to which I wasn't listening; I examined him as if for the first time amd seeing how shallow he really was - without the hair and the looks he'd be nothing; he'd relied on it all so much that he'd never really bothered to build a personality with which to engage others; a vaguely animated cardboard cut-out. I was dismissing the stream of words as background noise, fullly intending to let him talk himself out and take himself off, but an idea was starting to take seed in my mind... 

"Look, really, I don't want this to end. I promise, that's it - if you say no more girls then I'll stick to it - I'll do anything. Please just give me one more chance...I really will do anything you say, but please..." 

I held out a finger and pressed it against his lips, then stood watching him, forcing him to meet my eyes then look away in utter shame. I seemed to be considering for hours, but finally said 

"Ok. Maybe. Only maybe. You pay the price and I'll think about it...but be aware I might punish you and then kick you out anyway. Going to take the risk, little boy? Find out how we do things in the grown-up world?" 

He saw a tiny chink of daylight at the end of the tunnel and nodded dumbly, he wasn't daft enough to think he'd been reprieved but he really did have no idea what my price was going to be - and I was convinced he'd baulk when he found out how high it was. I disappeared off into the bathroom leaving the following instruction 

"Strip. Boxers only. Then in here. No words. One word and we're done; its entirely your choice..." 

I went into the bathroom and put a chair in front of the mirror then busied myself finding - and laying our prominently - various things. I heard him come to the door, then the huge gasp of breath as he finally realised what the price was to be. He stood in the doorway and his eyes were like saucers as he tried to take in what I was saying 

"You are just a dumb little tart, and you had it made - all you had to do was control it enough to keep it secret - d'you know how many guys would kill for that? No strings, no questions? So, seeing as you are unable to say no, and the silly little girls are unable to stop flinging themselves at you; I'm going to make it that much harder. Up to you; either keep the pretty hair and the plastic girls; or say goodbye to it and learn to build relationships on something a bit more stable than your undoubted good looks. Its entirely up to you..." 

I was amazed to see him actually moving towards the chair, albeit in such a stilted, disjointed manner I'm not sure brain and body were in agreement on this. His hair was his pride and joy; he wasted hours, not to mention a fortune, preening it and without it he would be just one of the many bland good-looking boys around. To be honest, it had never even crossed my mind he'd agree; I'd really meant to give him a scare to remember for the rest of his life as he legged it - mostly naked - from the apartment. I gave it a bit more of a verbal prod 

"Once you sit down, that's decision made - I'm not going to give you a reprieve. Do you understand that? This isn't a game - I'm not willing to stay in a relationship with a silly little boy who can't control himself. If you are willing to take your punishment like an adult, and start to look like and behave as a man rather than an oversexed teenager, then this is your last chance. But don't think I'm calling your bluff. You've got ten seconds to decide, after which I'll leave you in here and make you do it yourself. One way or another, you pay the fine or you go. I don't care which." 

He lurched down into the chair absolutely grey in the face and sweating and I was very tempted to just say I had indeed been calling his bluff all along. But this was intriguing now; firstly because his over pampered, over long hair had always annoyed the hell out of me and the opportunity to whack it all off was beyond my wildest dreams, and secondly because he must really be serious if he was prepared to do this - he knew his beautiful hair was what made him stand out, and it was always the prelude to pulling the chicks; their moves were identical every time as they remarked on and stroked his hair. And I knew he'd seen the clippers; he knew perfectly well this wasn't going to be his usual careful half inch trim. 

Poor kid looked like a lost sheep as I picked up a comb and began to draw it through his hair, which really was amazing. He had a love/hate relationship with having it combed; he hated it because he felt like a doll, yet it was sensuous enough to turn him on - and I was really working it, making sure he felt every single tug and dig of the comb possible, smoothing it back with my hands, rubbing his neck, knowing this must be torture for him because he'd be aware it was the last time. I smiled to myself as I saw the front of his shorts rise - good; if this aroused him against his will the extra humiliation would be exquisite - well, it would from my point of view. I knew that he was just starting to realise what he'd taken on when he got together with me; he'd been totally outmanoeuvred and was going to pay a hefty price for his complacency. 

Finally I put the comb down and used both hands to raise his head so our eyes met in the mirror. I picked the clippers up and held them so they were reflected next to our eyes and turned them on. The horrendous pop made him jump half out of his skin, but I held his gaze the entire while as I bought them slowly up to his forehead; his eyes were riveted like a rabbit in headlights. Just to be a bitch, I sighed and turned them off, lowering them, holding his eyes in the mirror and seeing relief flood in, then merely adjusted my position and turned them on again. 

Right up to the very last moment I thought he'd suddenly make a break for it and I held the clippers vibrating on his forehead for several long drawn-out seconds, but I was amazed when he sat firm, no movement but a tight-lipped nod. I twitched them a couple of times, making him startle but then, as slowly as I possibly could  pushed them back into his hairline, making sure he had a perfect view and keeping my eyes locked on his in the mirror. The sound changed as they bit into hair for the first time, the delicious crackling that means they are cleaving through everythng in their path. I drove them steadily back into his hair and because time had slowed down so much it seemed to take ages for anything to happen, but then it all impacted at once - a stark line appeared with the faintest of stubble down the middle of his head, and it looked so alien - he must be having real trouble comprehending this. At this same moment,  the first huge lock detached itself and rolled lazily down his face onto his bare chest; I hadn't even let him have a  towel; I wanted him to see, feel and suffer every tiny nuance of this. I was watching his eyes in the mirror and he tried to hold my gaze but he couldn't stop his eyes drifting down and watching the progress of the shining tress as it gently drifted into his lap. 

Having got to the top of his head I pulled the clippers out and moved them over to his ear, grasping a great sheaf and holding it out from his head. This time I pushed the clippers in from behind, and his eyes fixed on the great tress as I moved the clippers forward, opening my hand so the loosened hair cascaded down his front as it was cut away from his head. A smooth path with the lightest of stubble appeared as I pulled the clippers out, then moved in on the next section. It was amazing, watching this great tress build up in front of the blades then see it fall away forever - and I made sure I got as much as possible to run down over his front so he had no choice but to watch it build up in his lap where it lay gently curling with no idea it had effectively been...well, killed, is how it must feel to him. He must have wondered if the stripe on top of his head was some terrible illusion but this section over his ear left him in no doubt that I had used no guard at all. 

I was really starting to enjoy this now; I've always enjoyed buzzing friends heads which is why I had the clippers in the first place, but I'd never had the chance to effectively shear someone of such amazing, long hair and there was a definite thrill that this was so against his will as well. I gathered the luscious hair into a ponytail at the back of his head, pulling it hard for emphasis, then collected it into my free hand as I started to shave clean, smooth lines up the back of his head, pulling harder and harder until you could almost hear the roots screaming in protest. I could feel the vibration of the clippers followed by a light tugging as the hair clipped free, leaving a beautiful white line behind with the tiniest of dark velvet covering, which I couldn't resist running my fingers across, feeling the answering shivers coming from my captive - oh, he was hating this, but I was impressed at his resolve - he wasn't going to give me the satisfaction of seeing or hearing any distress. Line followed after relentless line and eventually, unbelievably, I had clipped all the back of his head and pulled the massive clump of hair away in my fist; although it must have been a relief in a way, I had been pulling it so hard. He looked utterly humiliated already, but I couldn't resist doing something incredibly mean - I held it high above his head and  slowly released it so his beautiful shorn hair cascaded all over his shoulders and chest and down into his lap. I was rewarded this time by a deep inhalation and the stiffening of his shoulders; this was killing the vain little bastard and he'd remember this moment every time he caught so much as a glimpse of another woman. 

I felt I'd tortured him enough now, I'd pretty much made my point so I set about clipping the rest of his head with ruthless efficiency and no further dramatics. I shoved his head savagely forward until his chin was against his chest then just peeled line after line; all I could see was this blizzard of hair raining down in front of his eyes; it was truly astonishing just how much there was, and it must have been one of the worst experiences of his life - I knew he was holding on tight to his emotions and I was actually impressed; I'm not sure this wasn't the first time ever he'd actually had to control himself, and he was acquitting himself admirably. Finally, finally, as I  made it to the other side and turned the horrendous noise off; you could hear nothing except his laboured breathing. I gasped as I looked down, the pile of shorn hair in his lap was astounding, and for the first time I felt a pang of guilt, which I stamped down quickly. 

Standing behind him I held his head firmly and forced it upwards so he had to look; the sight which greeted him will have been beyond his worst nightmares - in his opinion he'd look like a freak. The lightest of stubble covered his poor head, his eyes looked enormous, his neck freakishly long. He was a very good looking guy and once he got used to it he would learn to adapt, but for the moment it must have been horrifying. 

I felt he'd earned his reward by now, and the sensation of a freshly clipped head is amazing. I ran my fingers lightly over his head, playing them against the nape and the tender spots behind the ears - sensations he woudn't have felt for years if he'd ever had hair this short before, and I felt him shudder as I scratched my nails down the back of his head and onto his neck and shoulders. He looked so vulnerable, so naked almost, that I felt a pang of sorrow then, and I tipped his head gently and moved forward to kiss him; the sugar after the nasty medicine. I wasn't expecting a mighty roar as he released all the tension and as he stood up he grabbed me and took me with him, shedding great piles of severed hair, carrying me even as I flailed against him into the bedroom and throwing me onto the bed.... 

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