I was hardly able to sleep all night.
Whatever that experience was- it frightened me, but it was the most thrilling feeling I’ve ever had. While I had always liked Arjun, in a certain sense, I’d never really known him. His likes, his kinks, him… but I feel like now, I do. Gradually, but definitely.
At 7, I push myself off the bed and putting on a sheer dressing robe over the pink camisole he had sent over, I walk out of my room. There’s nothing waiting for me outside the door so I assume he’s not up yet. Walking down the hallway, I pause at his room and knock lightly.
There’s no answer. With a little bit of the spunk that had gotten into me, I open it a little bit and peer inside. It’s empty. While I knew where his room was, I’d never been inside. It’s decorated in dark themes, navy blue and beige. A large king size bed sits in the center, and from the unmade state, I realize he’s already awake.
I walk down the stairs, tying the robe around me. In the large mirror at the foot of the staircase, I can’t help but pause and take a long hard glance at myself. While my face looks no different from the front except the full bangs now adorning my face, if I push back the hair at my crown, I can see the precision with which he had shaped my hairline.
For possibly the hundredth time, I lift my hair up from the neck and feel the shaved nape, and for possibly the hundredth time as well, I feel tingles down to the tip of my toes. Unless I want everyone to see my under shave, ponytails are definitely off. With a tut, I let my hair fall back in place, perching at the top of my butt in a straight sheet.
I expect to see the maid or the cook in the kitchen, but nobody’s there. Curiosity makes me walk toward the one room that felt the most familiar to me in the entire house.
Every step I take makes me go through all of the memories of yesterday.
I push open the large mahogany door but it’s empty as well. I switch on the lights and catch my own reflection in the mirror, face pale and expectant. I move to the table by which the wigs hang and look at them, some cut into long elaborate layers, a few variations of the pixie and some blunt cuts. I pull open the first drawer, and hold back a gasp.
In it are three zip lock bags placed inside a velvet cloth, each holding shorn locks of hair inside. Some long, some short tendrils – but all the three bags were nearly full.
On each bag, is a note. One says 15/04/2013, another 13/09/2014 and the last one 22/06/2015. I run a hand through them, trying to imagine what kind of person that woman was, how Arjun had been with her.
“I see you’ve found Bluebeard’s secret stash,” I hear Arjun’s voice behind me and turn around with a gasp. He’s slightly sweaty, clad in jogging shorts and a T-Shirt. With a mischievous smile on his face, he walks over to me, pushing his hands into his pockets.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” I turn back around and push the drawer close. I feel him come to a halt beside me.
“Of course not,” he chuckles and pulls open the drawer again, reaching over me. “Tell me, Priya. What is it that you’re curious about?”
“Just three?” I ask, unable to ask what I had actually meant.
“Just three what?” he prods.
“Women,” I give in, looking through the different bags.
“Yeah,” he chuckles. “Nobody I knew. Paid them and got this.”
“And I meant it when I said you’re the first woman I ever brought in here,” I feel his gaze on me but look away. Unable to formulate a reply, I just let him continue. “Heck, I never even told anyone about this.”
“When did you know?” I ask, fingering the wig on the mannequin, styled into a short bowl cut.
“I can’t remember a time I didn’t know,” he laughs. “Twelve maybe? It got to a point wherein I would look for a long-haired girlfriend who could understand my feelings with it.”
“What happened then?” I lean back against the table, crossing my arms. He sits on the stool with a sigh and kicks off his shoes.
“Honestly,” he looks up at me, leaning forward so his hands are clasped between his knees. “I could never share it with anyone. I got the girls but I couldn’t get my feelings out. So, I resorted to these models,” he nods towards the closed drawer. “I’d pay a few thousand and get my wishes granted. But it never felt intimate.”
“Just a few thousand?” my mouth falls open in shock.
“If you look hard enough, you can find women willing to sell their hair for much less,” he smiles sadly. “We all yearn for things we don’t have.”
“You don’t keep the whole ponytails?”
“I don’t work that way,” he looks like he’s deep in thought. “For me it’s about the experience. I like the power, I like the process. But hair doesn’t mean much to me if it isn’t attached to your body anymore.”
“So that’s why you move in increments,” I nod.
“Exactly,” he grins, walking up to me. “You’re a smart cookie, babe.”
I laugh and his finger rubs along the bare patch above my ear. “I remember your face from yesterday,” he says softly. “You looked like you were about to burst into tears at any moment. But you still let me do it to you.”
“I was terrified.”
“Yeah,” his hand moves to my neck, his thumb running circles at my clavicle. “I pushed your limits. But I have a feeling you liked it.”
“Loved it,” I grin, looking up at him and his eyes mirror my own reaction.
He caresses my neck, his fingers grazing my freshly shaven nape. “Do you realize how much this weekend means to me?” he asks, his eyes darting between my own.
I nod and he sighs, dropping his fists back into the pockets. Not willing to hold back any longer, I hug him and whisper, “It means a lot to me too. I never expected this and I don’t understand why, but it’s wonderful.”
I feel his chest relax beneath me as he wraps his arms tightly around me. When I pull back, he grazes his hands through a lock that had fallen over my chest.
“I used to feel this guilt, every time I cut a woman’s hair,” he runs his finger tenderly along my jaw. “So, I set myself a limit, no more than one a year. But because there were no mutual feelings, I hardly began to feel anything despite it being something I’d craved so much. It started feeling so insipid, I just gave it up. But you,” he looks down at me with what can only be termed as adoration. “I feel a heady rush.”
“Where is my hair?” I ask. “The ponytail from my nape that you cut yesterday.”
Arjun grins. “It’s somewhere special. Want to see?”
I nod with a smile and he pulls me away from the room and takes me up the spiralling staircase into the library. Walking past the corridor, he takes me by the hand up the staircase and towards him room, his socked feet padding through the wooden floors. He pushes open the door and moves toward the chest by his bedside, with me right behind him.
He pulls the top drawer open and retrieves an engraved leather case. Giving me a smile sideways, he gives it to me and I open it, and in it, find a slender lock of hair, about two feet long and an inch wide.
“This is something I’ll treasure forever,” he says, when I hand back to him. Returning it to the drawer, he gives me a smile. “I don’t believe I’ve shown you my room. You like it?”
I look around once more, taking the simplistic yet elegant décor, and nod. “It’s nice. I was actually looking for you in the morning and thought it suits you.”
He laughs. “Looking for me, were you?” he grazes his hand along my cheek, his eyes growing hungry. “So, you trespassed into my room without my permission huh, babe?”
I blink at him hurriedly, flustered with the drift in his body. “I-I’m sorry.”
“This room is as much yours as any other,” he starts wrapping a lock from the front section of my hair around his index finger from the ends, gradually progressing through the lengths. “But you still need to be punished for not telling me sooner.”
When I blush, he tugs with his index finger and I wince slightly. “Untie the robe,” he says with a heavy voice while letting go of my hair, and I loosen the knot, the garment falling into a sheath around my feet. I can feel his heated stare along my legs since the camisole ends just below my butt.
“There’s still another part of this house that I need to have you in,” he whispers against my ear and leads me towards his walk-in closet. The area is like a small vestibule, with a glass door leading towards the bathroom, opposite to another entry to his walk-in closet, separated by a wooden door.
“Before we go in here, we both need a shower,” he cups a hand underneath my butt and leads me towards the shower.
“Priya, I’m not going to force you to do anything, as I promised,” he says, pulling the T-shirt off his chest followed by the socks. I gawk at him in his shorts and he grins, “I’m going to go in for a shower, but if you want to join me, you’re free to. You can obviously go have it in your room as well, totally up to you. No pressure, babe.”
I turn around with a gasp when I see him begin to pull down his shorts and hear his deep throaty chuckle behind me. I listen to the shower door being opened and shut close with a thumping heart.
With a nervous determination, I pull the camisole off my head and with shaking hands, climb out of my panties. Before I can even open the shower door, Arjun pushes it open in one quick movement.
“I knew you’d come,” he grins.
I do not get a chance to return to my room for my clothes.
I wrap a towel around me anyway, Arjun’s fingers having roamed through nearly every inch of my body – lathering, rinsing, drying. He even insisted on washing my hair, and I nearly fell asleep because the gentle rhythm of his fingers in my scalp just relaxed me so much. The sight of his bare body for the first time did shock me, but true to his promise, he did not initiate anything.
It felt more… sensual?
He even dried my hair again for me, after putting on a pair of boxers. The bangs honestly looked amazing now, styled into perfection with his expert hands. I wriggle them and smile in the bathroom mirror as he’s putting away the dryer and the brush into the drawer and he throws me a smirk.
“How much do you trim yourself generally?” he asks, suddenly.
“About two inches,” I say looking at the state of my hair sideways in the mirror, falling to the top of my butt, securing the towel tightly around me.
“Show me,” he grins at me from the mirror, coming to stand by my side and I look up at him in surprise.
“Show me how you trim your hair,” he throws back his head, giving me a sultry smile.
“Are you serious?” I laugh.
“100%,” he smiles. “Do it, Priya.”
“Okay,” I say meekly and grab a comb and scissors from the drawer above the hair dryer. I don’t really have a sophisticated method,I just something that does the job.
I divide the hair at the back in two and comb each side over to my front. Then, pulling the left section straight over my chest, I slide it section by section between my index and middle finger and right at the bottom, bring it up and snip away at the strands about a centimetre from the ends. Repeating it with my right, I snip away another half an inch there as well. The basin collects the little snippets and doing so in front of him, fills me with a weird anxiety.
When I’m done, I find Arjun smiling lazily down at me through the mirror.
“Oh, my little darling,” he croons wrapping an arm around my waist. “We did not cut two inches, did we?”
I shake my head and he pulls my hair back, running his hands along the length and wrapping it around his hand.
“You don’t want to cut your hair?” he asks, pulling back my head with the hair around his hand.
“No,” I say truthfully and he smiles.
“Well don’t you worry,” he kisses my ear. “I will. Do you want me to?”
I give a small shake of the head. Arjun laughs, releasing me from his grasp. “Too bad. I will anyway.”
I bite my lip and look away and he nudges me to look at him. “Look at me,” he beckons and I comply.
“You want to keep the towel on?” he asks, rubbing his palms along the front of his shorts.
“For?” I blink.
“Let me show you,” he leads me out of the bathroom with twinkling eyes, throwing out the wooden door between the bathroom and the walk-in closet in the vestibule. He shows me in, switching on the lights and damn if my heart doesn’t nearly jump out of my chest.
The floors are made of glistening black and white tiles and the walls glow a warm mahogany from the golden lights fixed into the ceiling. A single mirror is placed in the center of the right wall, attached to a counter with a built-in basin. Facing this set up on the left wall is a leather couch, no bigger than a loveseat. Between the two walls, facing the mirror is something I can only describe as an old school barbershop chair. Supported with a brown leather cushioned seat and back rest, the chair sports accompanying leather arm rests and foot hold.
Arjun gently nudges my butt and I follow his will for me to take a seat. Keeping the towel intact around my body, I carefully climb into the chair, feeling enveloped.
He moves to me slowly, adjust the lever so the head rest is lowered to the minimum and my head is unobstructed. He gently tugs my hair out and lets it fall freely past the chair. With slow, deliberate movements, he moves to the basin and pulling out the drawer to the right, retrieves a wooden case. As he opens it slowly, I almost gasp.
I find scissors and a generic comb, a razor and tube of shaving cream with a brush. Minimalistic equipment from a barbershop.
Catching my eyes in the mirror, he gives me a smile, “You know, I couldn’t help but find your underarms sporting a stubble.”
My underarms feel hypersensitive then, the tiny hairs just starting to grow out feeling itchy on my skin. He wets the brush in the basin and putting some cream on it, comes over to me and gives me an expectant look.
Gingerly, I raise my right arm and in steady circles, Arjun moves the brush around and repeats the same on the other side. He moves with slow gestures, looking into my eyes and sending me into a tizzy. When my arms begin to feel sore from holding upwards for a while, he washes the brush and brings the razor.
If I’d thought my nape shave was tingling, this was nearly as exciting. As he smoothly runs the blade across my underarms, I feel myself growing wet and my nipples harden. The towel starts slipping down and he looks into my eyes, with an intense hunger. Nearly half my breasts are exposed by the time he’s done with shaving both my arms. The second he wipes the first arm with a wet towel, I adjust the towel around my torso and heave a sigh of relief when I’m able to avoid the sight of my aroused nipples. He follows the same movement on the other arm with a laugh when he recognizes my predicament and then proceeds to wash the razor and replace it in the box.
Arjun then turns around and walks over to me, his hand grasping at the hair on the sides of my head and pulling it lightly. “Such pretty hair, what are you doing in a barbershop?”
“Whatever you want,” I stammer and he smiles, running his hand through.
“That I will take,” he smirks. “But we don’t do these towels here,” he says, tugging the towel of me with ease and I blush, looking at myself in the mirror, stark naked.
Arjun opens a cabinet to the top and pulls out a cape. He lifts my hair deftly with one arm, throwing it over me and fastens the cape tightly at my nape. I can see my aroused breasts through the flimsy material.
“What would you like?” he asks, running through my hair a comb he grabs from the box. He expertly handles the scissors looped into his other fingers as he moves through my length.
“A trim,” I whisper, wishing he wouldn’t go much further.
He smiles slowly at me through the mirror, “We don’t do trims at the barbershop, babe,” he drawls. “Especially not when your hair is mine to take.”
Arjun combs through my hair one last time before taking the scissors in hand. “Have you ever had your hair cut by a man before?”
There’s a certain possessiveness in his eyes when I look at him in the mirror. I answer hesitantly, “Yes.”
He nods to himself, asking, “When?” He sections my hair into three parts, one on each side and another at the back.
“A year and a half ago.”
“So, your last haircut was from a man?” he raises an eyebrow. “What did you get?”
“Just a trim,” I gulp at the intensity. “Cut to about my butt.”
“So just as long as your hair is now?” he smirks. “That won’t do.”
Without a second’s thought, I see him pick up the section in the middle and feel the cut. Owing to the length, I have no idea how much was just cut off. He swiftly picks another lock and repeats the cut, and apart from the tug, I really cannot tell how much, obscured by the chair as it was. He repeats it along the whole section, little tugs followed by releases. When I think he’s done with the back, he swings the chair around with a jerk and I gasp at the force when he holds it in place in an abrupt motion.
“You are never getting your hair cut by someone else again, understood?” he hulks down at me, an arm placed strongly on each arm rest. “Especially not by a guy.”
I nod, tears springing to my eyes when I see he’s kind of mad. I will myself to not cry and gulp it down.
“I will cut your hair. Every month, irrespective of whether you think you need it or not,” he runs his hand through my left section. “You don’t worry about your rent or anything else. You can move in with me the minute you want to,” his eyes soften. “It will be like any normal relationship but we’ll have some rules. This is mine,” he tugs at it. “Apart from the monthly trims, I’ll choose your haircut every season. You have veto power, but I hope you trust me.”
I stare at him with an open mouth, wonder