HaircuttingStories.com

Apparently, when the first part of this was posted the last line was missing, so I've included the last paragraph here before the second part - but don't worry, you didn't miss much.

The beautiful, adored (and spoiled rotten) boy demanded Part II as well, so...here it is.

Amazingly, the front of his head wasn't too bad, just needed a little tidying up, but I noticed as I stood in front of him smoothing my hands over his beautifu head that he was getting interested again as well - there's one thing you can say for twenty year old boys, they have stamina. There was hair absolutely everywhere, sprayed all over the bathroom, stuck all over the pair of us; it looked like there had been some sort of weird massacre in a barber shop. Still, the easiest way of getting rid of it was the shower so, pulling my newly shorn boy to his feet, that's where we headed.....

Summertime - part II

Once SB and I had managed to scrub all the little hair clippings off in the shower - and made each made sure the other was scrupulously clean, naturally; every inch was well examined; I'm not sure there could be two cleaner people on the planet - I wrapped a towel round myself, left him trying to shake all the hair clippings out of his clothes, and wandered into the kitchen to find something cool to drink. He made it to the doorway as I emerged from the fridge; I noticed as he came in to grab the profferred bottle of beer that he'd nicked a pair of Sam's boxers - obviously his own had been somewhat itchy, which was hardly surprising; the bathroom was absolutely covered in shorn hair but I was feeling far too languid and sated to worry about that for the moment. And hot, incredibly it was hotter than ever although I wouldn't have believed that possible - for some reason the bathroom stays really cool so the heat which had been building during our morning's play hit like a sledgehammer.

I groaned as I pulled the towel off my head; I'd be lucky if my hair dried at all in this, it was going to be drenched with sweat before the water got chance to dry and I could already feel droplets building up around my forehead. I reached out to stroke his lovely fuzzed head yet again, there was something about the texture of his hair that made it feel incredibly soft rather than the slightly bristly feel I was used to when I clipped Sam's wiry mop, and I couldn't leave it alone.

"Feeling cooler now?" I asked, that being the ostensible reason for this morning's fun, getting merely a quirky grin in response, making me wonder all over again if I'd been played by a pro. But if he'd been acting this morning he was a true loss to the stage, I was sure that it had been genuine and he was as surprised as I when things took an "interesting" turn. Either way there wasn't much point worrying about it I decided as I took the chair next to him and started to comb my hair out.

He reached out and took the comb from my hand and silently indicated I should turn with my back to him; I did so and felt him scoot up close behind me. Still without a word, he pulled all my hair over my shoulders so it streamed down my back, and started to pull the comb through incredibly gently, stopping the second he hit the tiniest knot and working it out carefully with the comb - rather different to my accustomed tactic of yanking it through and wincing, with occasional swearing. The feeling was exquisite as he gently worked his way through, I'd never had anyone pay such attention before and I loved having my hair combed or brushed. Unusually though he seemed to be enjoying it for its own sake, there was none of the sense that it was just a mechanism to make me give out which I had felt with any other guys. I was getting so relaxed into it, purring like a cat, that I barely registered he'd started to speak, and had to rouse myself to pay attention;

"Has it always been long like this?" he asked, digging the comb in underneath the hairline at the nape and slowly pulling back which just makes me melt, its the most amazing feeling

"Yeah, pretty much. It was long when I was little although I had a fringe then, and for some reason I never cut it during my teenage years although all the other girls I knew did, as that was very much the fashion at the time. I think the shortest its ever been was just below shoulder length when I was around twenty; I wanted some long layers put in and came out with this horrendous shaggy mess -  I think I cried for about a week. I absolutely hated it; it took forever to grow all the layers out and since then its pretty much just stayed at one length. Every now and then I get really adventurous and have it cut up to about bra-strap length, it varies between that and this but I don't grow it much lomger than this - when it gets past my waist it starts to break, so...."

"I can't believe its essentially never changed - my ex's hair was never the same two days running; every time I saw her the cut had changed or the colour. Have you never been tempted just to go for something completely different?"

"Yeah, definitely, particularly in this hot weather I am very tempted to get it chopped but when its been like this my whole life....actually last time I went to the hairdressers I was determined to have something dramatically different but I chickened out at the last minute and had the usual half inch trim. Apart from anything else, you can do so much when its long; up, down, plaits, ponytails, but when its short you've pretty much got one style."

He laughed gently at that "not sure my ex would agree with you there - even if it hadn't been cut or coloured she did a million different things with hers; parting it different, slicking it back, blow drying it forward. And if she did something she didn't like it was short enough that she could dampen it down and start again; this must take forever to dry, even with a blow dryer." Smoothing it all back down with his hands, he put the comb down and I reluctantly turned round now the pampering was over, to be overtaken by yet another massive blast of heat that made me slump down and groan -  this weather was just ridiculous.

We sat companionably for a few minutes, not talking, not even thinking very much - or at least I wasn't. Eventually though, I became aware of the intensity of his gaze and quirked an eyebrow in question;

"Don't be pissed off, but I was just thinking how great it would look shorter - you've got the most gorgeous long neck and amazing eyes and they're kind of hidden. You do have truly beautiful hair, but it's hiding other beautiful features which is a shame."

I groaned, I'd heard this before; my hairdresser was always playing this particular record; in fact it was largely due to her starting up again that I hadn't had it cut the last time, it wasn't solely cowardice. Playing along with the game, I asked what he'd do given carte blanche, but I was in no way expecting the answer I got;

"I'm not sure. It would look great a million different ways. Look, follow me..." and with that he was off into the bathroom again; traipsing in after him I sat on the chair in front of the mirror. Then, to my surprise he was playing with my hair, pushing it this way and that, holding it up at different lengths - and he was right; when you took all the hair away my features stood out in a way I'd never noticed before, not even when it was put up. Yes, I was definitely going to think about this the next time I had an appointment at the hairdresser, however smug she was going to be, and told him so.

I started to get up when a hand pressed gently down on my shoulder; looking up into the mirror I saw the same intense stare straight into my eyes.

"Do you trust me?"

A shiver went through me then; funnily enough I did, absolutely and completely, but I couldn't quite see what relevance it had. Not sure why I was feeling so nervous, I managed to whisper yes; what he said next blew me away

"Let me cut it. Now. I promise I won't scalp you; I've done my ex-girlfriend's in the past. Please, you'll look great, and it will be so much cooler. Anyway, there's a compliment to return, no?" and he pointed at his own recently shorn head.

My initial reaction was no. Nononononono. I had only just vaguely decided I'd talk to the hairdresser about it, let alone letting someone who,as far as I knew, had no idea what they were doing loose on it - he'd lost the plot, surely? Normal people don't let the friends of their grubby little brother wander in and chop off all their hair. But then again, normal people don't let same grubby little friend's sister loose on their crowning glory, and he'd trusted me implicitly. He raised the stakes then by gently lifting my hair off my neck and tracing a path along the soft skin just below the hairline which was usually hidden. "Just think how nice this feels, and how great it would be to have your hair off your neck" he murmured, blowing along my neckline and causing very odd sensations all over the place "No way are you cutting it that short!" I squeaked, imagining brutal crops which I absolutely hate on girls, and telling him so; at the same time wondering why that hadn't come out "No way are you cutting it!" "Don't worry" he almost whispered (don't worry? was he mental?) I'll make you look gorgeous. Now go and put something on so your shoulders and neck are exposed" and with that he lifted me off the chair and with a kiss and a tap on the bum to send me on my way turned and started rummaging through the cupboard looking for clips and bands and all the rest of the paraphernalia.

I stumbled into the bedroom in a daze, not entirely sure how I had ended up agreeing to have my hair cut by a total novice - and not just trimmed, either, really cut pretty short by the sound of things. I found a silky slip with narrow shoulder straps and put it on, thinking the hair would slide off it easily, then caught myself. Was I actually going to do this? I looked in the bedroom mirror at the familiar sight, felt the belting heat and suddenly realised, yes, I was, to my utter amazement. He threw caution to the wind this morning, I was going to do the same. If it was a disaster I would get a hairdesser to fix it; hair grew back anyway. Oh, and I'd chain him up in the cellar forever as my personal sex slave to make him pay. Seemed like a good enough deal to me...

As resolute as I was going to get, I wobbled back into the bathroom and almost collapsed in the chair, noticing he'd amassed a fine array of clips and combs and of course the scissors from earlier. Somehow, seeing all this made this very real, and my resolution left by the back door. Just as I was about to get up again, he bent and kissed my shoulder, saying "You will be even more beautiful" and I was as stuck to that chair as if he'd superglued me there. And glued up my mouth at the same time, which was refusing to say anything comprehensible at all, particularly something along the lines of "No."

My hair was almost dry by now, and he started combing through again making sure every single hair was pointing downwards in the approved manner, and there wasn't the tiniest of knots. I felt him drawing lines with the comb at the top of my head, then the two front sections were pushed in front of my ears and he combed through the back and clipped it out of the way. Moving to my right side he recommenced the hypnotic combing until my hair hung in a straight shining curtain all the way to my waist. I had expected him to dampen it, but he came in front of me, looked deep into my eyes and said "Ready?" I squeaked something he chose to take as an affirmative and he moved back to my right hand side. Taking a small section from the very front he combed it down, grasped it tightly and before I was really aware of what was happening started to snip through. I couldn't judge how long it was going to be, but I couldn't believe the length that was dropping down behind the scissors; well over a foot, god knows how many years growth, just....gone. After what seemed like ages he  finally snipped through that first section and released it from his fingers and I gasped as it floated back against my neck, barely two inches below my chin. Ye gods and little fishes, had I lost my mind? I think he sensed I might be pulling myself together to pull the plug, and he rapidly combed through and grasped the next section at the same length, snipping rapidly across so that when he released it there was no going back - I was committed to this now. The final front section was by far the worst; I had never heard scissors so near my ear before and the sound they make is cruel, a horrible dry shirring followed by an incredibly final snip; a sound that could almost epitomise tiny destruction. To my undying shame I started to cry just as he moved to the front to check he was happy with what he'd done so far, and he knelt and gently kissed the tears away, then sat back looking at me in such a worried manner I laughed weakly and told him it was just shock.

He stood and moved to the other side, and with the same three combings and snippings - he'd obviously decided that the more quickly he did it, the less traumatic it would be, and I think he was right - my hair was now two inches down below my chin at the most all across the front and sides. Even though I couoldn't see it, I knew cutting the back was going to be awful, and I wanted it over and done with as quickly as possible. He must have picked this up; he grabbed a band and put the back section in a ponytail, pushed my head forward and with no hesitation started to cut through it not an inch below my hairline which was horrifying, thrilling, mesmerising - so many different emotions there seemed to be a new one for each snip. Along with the gentle pulling and the scissors on my nape I could feel my now incredibly short hair fall back against the top of my neck then felt the final tug and release as the last of the ponytail left its familiar home of many years standing. He was obviously going to lose it somewhere so I didn't see it, but I held up my hand for him to pass it over, which he did with a reluctant glance at me in the mirror. It was was truly astonishing, at least twenty inches, probably a lot more, soft, straight and...not attached to my head any more. It almost looked reproachful with its horrible stunted ends sticking out of the band, as if it couldn't believe it was the recipient of such cavalier behaviour.

I put my hand up to feel the back, but he grabbed it to stop me "No. Not until I've finished; it'll upset you, and I don't want that" and laid it gently back in my lap. I thought we had finished but obviously not; in the absence of any spray bottle he had a bowl of water into which he was dipping the comb to dampen my hair; it felt so strange when it was wet, the huge heavy weight I was used to was gone. He moved in front and made a very precise straight parting on one side of my head, and it felt as if he checked every single hair was on whichever side of the parting he wanted it to be. I must admit, he was obviously so engrossed, and taking such care that the devil took me for a moment and I reached out and very, very slowly ran a finger up the front of the boxer shorts - well, it was there in front of me; it would have been rude not to. Despite the excursions of earlier he was absolutely solid yet again and I felt him stop and let out a tiny whimper. Poor boy, he was so distended it must actually hurt, so rather than taking him into my mouth then, which had been the initial plan, I felt it only right to leave him to suffer a while longer. He sighed as I gently circled the tip through the material, then stood back when my hand went back into my lap.

Returning to stand behind me, he again divided the back section of hair out and clipped the sides forward; then ran a line ear to ear across the back of my head and clipped all the top hair out of the way. I was already nervous about the back as it felt incredibly short already, but what I heard next made me jump out of my skin; the familiar pop and buzz of the clippers. I turned round to look at him and the terror in my eyes must have been obvious, he smiled and said

"Sam is right, It feel amazing. Its by far the easiest way to stack the back and I've done it before - its just a small section at the nape, don't worry - you won't get scalped"

and with that he pushed my head forward and pushed the clippers in firmly just behind my ear, moving upwards with a steady assured hand. Amazing was not the word, its the most unusual feeling; not only as if your head is being stroked with a vibrator but the incredible sensation of hair peeling away from the blades, followed by the strangest sensation of air blowing on a part of my head that hadn't been this exposed since I was a baby. I had no idea which guard he had used although I knew there was one, but either way they're all short - especially when carving into what was waist length hair. As he finished his line and started the next with the same firm motions, I didn't know whether to just sink into the rapturous  feeling of the clippers on my head or go into absolute panic about how short he was cutting my hair - and he was cutting my hair very short, by the feel of things As he moved across the back of my head I could sense what felt like masses and masses of hair cascading down my back and as he came up for the final couple of passes behind my other ear I could see why it felt like so much - this time the clippings fell forward and a great swathe of two to three inch cuttings came rushing down my front, over my shoulders, over my breasts, only to gather in my lap or fall out of sight on the floor. After running the clippers over a few times presumably to make sure everything was even, finally he turned them off, and a deathly silence pervaded the room, punctuated only by my laboured breathing - I was not at all sure about this now, but it was rather too late to back out....about two feet too late, I reckoned. Jesus, what had I done?

He swooshed all the cuttings off my back and shoulders with the brush, then carefully brushed my front, taking care not to push itchy clippings down my cleavage. As the brush gently moved over my collar bone and the tops of my breasts goose-pimples arose in its path; I had never realised before today what an amazing experience a simple act like cutting hair could be, yet this was turning out to be every bit as intense as cutting his had been earlier. After several unnecessary, teasing swipes across my front with first the brush then his fingers, my nipples were trying to push their way through the thin silk of my top. I made a grab for him but he nimbly skipped out of the way; underlining how the person in the chair really is at the mercy of the other in every way. Never mind, he'd stand in front of me eventually, then we'd see who was boss.

He let down another section at the back of my head and was snipping busily, time and time again I felt the comb dig in then after being pulled out what felt like a fraction of an inch everything above the teeth was mercilessly chopped off. I couldn't believe he'd actually crop it after promising not to, but it felt as if that was exactly what was happening. He really must have been a mind reader though, for at this moment he said not to worrry, this was only the invert? inversion? something like that anyway, and the rest would be much longer, although I was no longer sure we exactly spoke the same language regarding length.

Finally he let down the last section at the back and as far as I could tell this was just cut in the normal manner; combed out, held taut and snipped at what felt like a horrendously high level at the back of my head, certainly well above my hairline. He moved to the right side then which was the narrow side of the parting and let down the side section which to my surprise, instead of resectioning, he seemed to be preparing to cut in one go. He combed it over and over until it was absolutely flat, then told me to sit very still; then from the back moving forwards he somehow managed to cut an absolutely perfect swooping line which bisected my ear diagonally about halfway through and swept on down to just below my chin. Holding the hair flat against my head he snipped a few little stragglers but it honestly looked as if he'd used a ruler - it was uncanny. And it looked amazing; my hair is pretty well behaved anyway, and it was already drying dead straight but with a slight curl under at the front.

Moving to the other side he again combed and combed until it was flat then snipped a tiny section right at the front which was obviously to be his bottom line, then again in almost one fluid motion, cut a perfect line which matched the other side hair for hair - I'm not even sure my hairdresser could have done this; apparently free cutting like this is incredibly hard and I wondered where he'd learned to do it - surely not just from practicing on his ex? Again, the odd few snips to catch any strays, although I don't think there were any, then he walked all the way round my head snipping at odd bits and pieces here and there. I couldn't move my head because he was still snipping away, but revealed in the mirror from the front was a perfect inverted bob, and he was right; my neck looked incredibly long, my cheekbones enhanced and my eyes huge.

Finally coming to stand in front of me, he explained he was going to cut in just a few long layers to make it swing and started combing out sections of hair seemingly randomly and snipping away at the very ends. As this didn't seem to be quite as precise as earlier, I figured there was no reason I couldn't move and in retaliation for the brushing earlier, resumed my exploration of the front of his boxers, which seemed to be in even more of a distended state than earlier. Scratching a light line down from his navel, I hooked my finger in the front and pulled him nearer to me, whilst inserting the other into the helpfully provided hole and drawing forth something that was massively pleased to see me, already glistening in anticipation. He'd stopped snipping about my hair and had his hands resting lightly on my head; I could feel his trembling all the way through me as I Ieaned forward and took that first wonderful lick, stem to tip and circled the very top lightly with my tongue causing him to whimper as his legs started to shake. Inserting my hand in through the loose leg meant I could fondle his balls and I lightly scratched as I slid my mouth down the length of him as slowly as I could manage, tickling with the tip of my tongue. I pulled back just as slowly and again circled the tip, all the while massaging his testes and stroking the sensitive perineum then gave another long lick along the whole length.

He finally managed to unglue his hands from the top of my head and with shaking hands pushed the straps of my slip off my shoulders;  pulling my arms through let him play with my released breasts as I pulled his boxers right down. Grabbing him, still massaging his undercarriage, I ran his gorgeous cock all over my breasts and neck, leaving a glistening trail behind, then, realising he was going to burst fairly soon took him back into my mouth as far as I could possibly go, although he was a big lad. Starting the age-old steady rhythm, tickling with my tongue on the outward stroke, lunging as far as possible on the downward whilst he frantically kneaded and squeezed whatever came to hand, it only took seconds before I felt the familiar tensing and I pulled back far enough to make sure I didn't gag (not sexy). He literally exploded in my mouth; it was all I could do to keep him there until the shudders stopped and he sagged against me kissing my hair and breathing like a steam train. I swallowed like a good girl (not particularly nice but it always seems churlish not to, and the poor simple creatures do love it so, bless them) then cleaned him up a little with my tongue. Pulling his boxers back up his still shaking legs and getting myself back into my top, I finally got to have a look at my hair.

It was amazing. I have no idea where he had learned to do it, but no way was this an amateur job. The front sat beautifully, the layers weren't noticeable but made it swing and the stacking at the back was perfect - but my god it was short, much more so than I had thought when I agreed to this. I put a trembling hand up to stroke it, this was pretty extreme seeing as it had been waist length when I got up this morning and I had no intentions of getting it cut. I couldn't stop running my fingers up the back, it felt so alien when all these tiny short hairs sprang into place, rather than the usual long luxurious pulling out from the nape I was used to. It did look wonderful, there was no doubt about that, but it was an incredible shock and would take some getting used to, and this feeling was compounded when I looked at the floor. I drew my breath in sharply when I saw the piles and piles of hair, ranging from the really long  to the tiniest of clippings, and I felt a sharp pang then for my beautiful, massacred hair  and the tears sprang to my eyes again, although I wasn't entirely sure why.

I looked up at SB uncertainly, had I just done a really stupid thing having all my hair cut off - and so, so short at the back? It would take years and years to grow back; yet it had been cut off in the space of an hour. Seeing me start to wobble, he pulled me towards him and I drowned into a long, deep kiss, then he told me I was beautiful and  took me to the bedroom to show me some of the delights of shorter hair and an exposed nape - for both of us.

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