A Gift for Her Fans

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Cass sat in the changing room, running a hand through her long brown hair. It reached all the way down to her waist, thick and wavy, an impressive mane that spun in a majestic arc when she banged her head. Long, silky, beautiful, it was one of the most defining parts of her appearance.

And during tonight’s gig, she would cut it all off.

Cass was the frontwoman of the all-female heavy metal band Howling Banshees. Banging heads and flying hair were a mandatory part of the stage show. But today, her hair would fly in ways the audience would never have expected. She grinned, and her reflection in the mirror grinned back at her.

As much as she loved her long hair, cutting it off had always been a fantasy of hers. Doing so on the stage in front of a thousand fans and with cameras recording the concert for a later DVD release would be its ultimate fulfillment. Tossing her clothes into the audience was a gimmick she had been doing for quite a while: first her jacket, then her boots, her socks, her shirt, until she stood only in jeans and bra.

Well, today her fans would have something much more personal to catch than just her clothes. She examined a pair of scissors, its sharp blades reflecting the bright lights of the changing room. Snip, snip, snip… lock by lock they would cut through her hair, and lock by lock her audience would catch it. The thought made her tingle all over – especially between her legs.

Becky, the band’s red-headed lead guitarist, burst through the door and asked, “Hey Cass, you ready?  We gotta be on the stage in ten minutes and you’re still in here. Everything all right?”

Cass slipped the scissors into her jeans pocket and smiled at her long-haired reflection. She wondered what she would look like with short hair. “Everything’s great, Becky. I’m ready to rumble!”

She jumped off her chair and left the changing room. She didn’t put on a jacket – it was a hot day, and she didn’t intend to throw her clothes to the audience today. They would be getting something much, much better.

 

***

 

They were five songs in and the concert was going great. Her bandmates were in high spirits today, playing at their very best, and the audience was full of energy and sang along with every song. Sometimes, Cass only sang the first line of a chorus, then held the microphone out to the crowd and had them sing the rest.

High energy. A captive audience. Cameras rolling. The perfect time to add a little more spice to the performance. The next song was called The Lion’s Mane, a fifteen minute epic with three guitar solos and lyrics that praised the hair of ancient warriors. The wild-haired Celts that raided Rome, Frederick Barbarossa and his long red beard, the long-haired soldiers of the seventeenth century. Cass grinned when Sally, the drummer, introduced the song with her drum solo. Despite the song’s very obvious lyrics, none of her bandmates had ever figured out her obsession with hair.

Tonight, the whole world would find out.

She poured her heart and soul into the performance, running across the stage as she sang and encouraging the audience to sing along.

When Becky’s first lengthy guitar solo started, Cass ran a hand through her hair and shouted, “The Lion’s Mane! All these warriors drew strength from their hair – but who wants a piece of this lion’s mane?” She pointed at herself, and the audience cheered.

They thought she would rip off her shirt and throw it to them. But no – just like she said, they would receive a piece of this lion’s mane. Her mane. Her beautiful, long, silky, wavy locks. She fixed her microphone to the mic stand and pulled the pair of scissors from her jeans pocket. The first solo took five minutes, so she had plenty of time to deal with her hair.

When the scissor blades severed the first lock of hair, something was released within her. She threw it into the crowd, and cheering fans raised their hands to catch it. The fulfillment of a fantasy she kept bottled up for years, never even mentioning it to anyone. And everyone here could participate in it. Her band, her fans… and the world, once the recorded concert was pressed on DVD.

She kept cutting, turning her long mane into a short pixie cut by cut. It was the most sensual thing she had ever done. The embracing of her inner self, her deepest desire, which she had hidden from the world – and even from herself – for so long.

Her bandmates gave her strange looks, but kept playing. The crowd was going wild. Those who managed to snatch her flying locks out of the air shouted with pride. Cass laughed. Her locks would become valuable collectors’ items in no time, she was sure.

Snip, snip, snip. She ran along the stage, spreading her hair through the audience. One man in particular caught her eye, a tall guy with long wavy hair like hers and a thick beard. His size gave him an advantage at snatching up her flying locks, as his arms reached far above the ones around him. He grabbed them eagerly, already holding a sizeable collection of hair in his hands.

Their eyes met for a brief moment. It only lasted a second, but even in that short moment she saw something that made her heart race. The gleam in his eyes showed her that he knew. He knew this was more than just a performance stunt. He saw right through her.

She kept running along the stage, throwing her hair left and right, but whenever she passed by the tall guy she slowed her pace and made sure to throw some hair directly at him. When their eyes met again, he placed a kiss on his collected tresses and winked at her.

Oh, he knew! And how he knew! It sent the blood rushing to her most intimate places.

Cass ran a hand through her hair, and her fingers failed to grasp a single strand longer than a few centimeters. It was done. Her glorious mane had been reduced to a short pixie, and not a single lock was left.

She ran back to the microphone and shouted, “This lion’s hair is now yours to bear! Carry it proudly, my soldiers!” She sought out the tall guy in the crowd and looked him in the eyes. Her lips curled up in a wide smile. From the huge pile of hair he held in his hands, it looked like he had caught almost half of her entire mane.

Cass was almost sad that her hair was gone now. Not because she wanted it back – it had fallen into worthy hands. She loved the idea of her fans carrying it home and admiring it in private, perhaps even having a little pleasure with it. No, she was sad because she wanted to keep cutting but couldn’t. It had taken her over like a disease. She wanted to cut, cut, cut, sever more long luscious dresses and throw them into the crowd.

The first solo was over, and Cass had to focus on the song for now. She sang with even more passion than before. Her soul was soaring, invigorated by the grand release of her long-held fantasy.

When the next solo came, she looked at Maggie, the bassist, and winked. “Alright, my warriors,” she yelled into the crowd, “do you want more hair?”

The crowd screamed. Maggie silently mouthed What the fuck, Cass?

“Then you shall have it! Maggie, the Horsewoman of the Galloping Bass, shall grant you her boon!”

Cass drove her scissors into Maggie’s shiny black hair and cut off a long, thick lock. It sailed into the crowd, where it was quickly snatched by eager hands.

“Seriously, Cass, what the fuck,” Maggie whispered. Her fingers kept plucking the strings, staying perfectly in rhythm, but beads of sweat appeared on her forehead.

“Just keep playing,” Cass whispered back. “They love it!”

“Yeah but I don’t.”

Lock by lock, Cass sliced through the bassist’s hair. Maggie’s face reddened with anger, but she managed to keep her cool. Her bass didn’t miss a note, even as the hair on her head grew lighter with every note she played. She watched with a forlorn gaze as her severed locks were thrown into the crowd, unable to stop the massacre Cass was committing on her head without ruining the song.

When Cass stepped away, Maggie banged her head and a cold chill went down her spine. The familiar feeling of her long hair tickling her neck as it swung wasn’t there. Curse that woman! What had gotten into her? It took great concentration to keep her focus on the song, to keep the bass galloping… she couldn’t even take a hand off her strings to run through her hair and check how much was left.

Cass walked over to where Becky and Tessa, the guitarists, were playing out a guitar duel, teasing out screaming solos from their vibrating strings. They guessed what was coming when Cass teasingly snipped the scissors in the air. Becky shook her head and grit her teeth in a threatening grimace, but Tessa merely rolled her eyes. Neither could do anything about it – this was their biggest concert yet, and it was being recorded for a worldwide DVD release. They had always been a small band only known in their local metal scene, but this was their chance to gain international recognition. They couldn’t fuck this up by throwing a tantrum in the middle of their longest song.

So they had to play along with whatever fucked up stage show Cass had come up with.

Both guitarists had long straight hair down to their waist. Becky’s was a natural red, a deep and alluring color, her greatest pride. Tessa’s was a dirty blonde, the color of a field of wheat.

“Do you want the hair of our guitar heroines, Red Becky and Thundering Tessa? Give me a scream!”

The audience roared. Cass laughed like a madwoman.

“I’ll fucking kill you for this,” Becky whispered close to Cass’s ear.

“You’ve always been a weirdo,” Tessa whispered. “I’m not even surprised anymore.”

The scissors plunged first into Becky’s mane, then into Tessa’s. One red and one blonde tress were severed and tossed to the audience whose hands reached out to grab them, eager like the mouths of birds being fed in their nest.

Cass kept alternating between the manes of the two guitarists. Red and blonde locks kept flying into the crowd. It was a testament to their skill that Becky and Tessa didn’t screw up their solos. Becky even ramped up the power and speed of her wailing notes, unloading all her aggression into the guitar.

Soon, both girls were left with short pixies, their hair now in the hands of their fans.

Cass moved on to the last remaining band member with long hair on her head. Sally almost missed a beat when she saw Cass approach with the scissors, as she had thought herself safe behind her massive drum kit. But no – even her black mane would fall victim to Cass’s strange obsession.

Sally’s hair was the shortest of all the girls – or had been until a moment ago, anyway. It reached to her collarbone, with short bangs that touched her eyebrows. Soon, her hair would be the length of her bangs all over.

Cass harvested Sally’s hair with quick snips. Snip, snip, snip, snip, snip went the scissors, again and again, until not a single hair touched her shoulder anymore. With the big harvested mop in her hands, Cass returned to the front of the stage and tossed the entire pile into the audience. A rain of hair fell down upon the front rows. People cheered at the top of their voices. The atmosphere in the hall was electric. Everyone was full of energy – Cass from the fulfillment of her fantasy, and the other band members from the anger they channeled into their instruments.

When the song was finished, Cass shouted into her microphone, “That was The Lion’s Mane, a tale of hair and power! And we, the Howling Banshees, gave our hair as a gift to you, our devoted fans! Draw strength from it, army of the banshees – for our next song will pound you to the ground! Strength of the Warriors!

Cass pointed at Becky and winked, but the look Becky returned was not pleased at all. Her guitar played out the intro to the song with much more aggression than usual.

Cass grinned from ear to ear. Her bandmates didn’t like their new haircuts at all, but their anger at the sudden loss of their beloved headbanging tresses was poured into their instruments. This was the most powerful concert they had ever played. So much passion, so much emotion. And the fans loved it.

They kept going through their set-list, each song played with more power than the last. Cass’s voice was a triumphant roar.

And throughout the concert, her eyes kept going to one particular fan in the audience. A tall bearded guy with a load of hair in his hands and a knowing glint in his eyes…

 

***

 

“What the absolute fuck got into you, Cass?” Becky yelled when they returned to the changing room. She furiously ran a hand through the remains of her red mane, her greatest pride, now reduced to a short pixie that barely covered her ears. “You shore us like sheep right there on stage! Did you lose your fucking marbles?!”

“Oh God,” Tessa moaned, looking at her short blonde curls in the mirror. “I look like some kind of farmer boy. Thanks, Cass. I hate it.”

“I got a pixie cut when I was sixteen,” Maggie said. “I regretted it immediately. Didn’t like it at all. Do you know how long it took to grow back to my waist, Cass? Do you have any idea?”

Sally let out a sigh. “It’s gonna take months before we can properly bang our heads again. I guess mine will be back at its original length in a year or so…” She looked at the others and winced. “More like five years for you girls, though.”

Becky angrily paced through the room, her hands balled into fists. “I really want to punch you in the cunt, Cass. Fucking shit, it feels like I’ve had a limb chopped off!”

Cass fell into a chair and stared at her boots, her cheeks flushing red with shame. “I’m sorry, girls. I know it was stupid. Shouldn’t have done that without at least asking you before the concert. It’s just… after I cut my hair off, I couldn’t stop.”

“What did you do that for, anyway?” Maggie asked. “I know you like to toss your clothes to the audience, but your hair? How did you come up with that?”

Cass sighed. She could easily make up an excuse, but they deserved the truth for the brutal surprise butchering of their precious locks. “It’s something I wanted to do for a long time. I kinda have a thing for hair.”

“A thing?”

She took a deep breath. “I have a hair fetish. Cutting off my hair was a secret fantasy of mine, and tonight I finally decided to go through with it. And then I just couldn’t stop. I’m sorry, girls, I really am.”

“Oh hell no,” Becky said. “You’re saying that this was a sex thing for you? You got off on chopping our hair on the stage? Are you for fucking real?”

Cass nodded.

The changing room fell dead silent. Nobody said a word, too shocked by Cass’s kinky revelation.

“We gotta talk about this shit tomorrow, Cass,” Becky said. “I don’t think I can deal with it right now. Let’s go back to the hotel, girls.”

The others muttered in agreement and left, leaving Cass alone with her thoughts – and with a warm tingle between her legs that begged to be addressed. She ran a hand through her short hair and the tingle intensified. Finally, she had gone through with her secret haircutting fantasy, and a massive audience had borne witness to it. Her right hand went down into her jeans, feeling a slight wetness on her panties. The thought that her fans might play with her hair like she now played with herself turned her on. Especially that tall guy… she wondered what he would do with her hair once he got home.

A knock at the door jerked her back into reality. “Uh… yes? Who is it?”

“Cass?” said a rough male voice, likely one of the security guards of the venue. “There’s a man who wants to speak with you.”

“A man?” Cass wondered who he was. Could it be the tall guy she was fantasizing about? She shook her head. Why would he come here, when he already had all he wanted. He had more hair in his hands than remained on her head! “Send him in, please.”

She heard the receding footsteps of the security guard, and a minute later the door to the changing room opened and someone stepped in.

It was the tall man with the muscle-bound arms and the thick beard covering his face. He held a long braid of brown hair in his hands, held together with several hair ties, and there was a wicked smirk on his lips. “Hey Cass. Brought your hair back.”

Cass stared at him with wide-open eyes. Every single hair in the braid was brown. It was all hers. He hadn’t caught any of the other girls’ hair – only hers. The heat of desire spread through her body, from the top of her scalp to the tips of her toes.

“You didn’t catch any other hair.”

He showed her a wide, toothy grin. “The others didn’t seem to like it when you chopped their hair off. But you… you loved it. I caught yours because I knew what it meant to you.”

“You did?”

“My ex had a hair fetish.”

“Oh.” The tingle between her legs became unbearable. She ached to touch herself. “Then you know.”

They kept staring at each other for a long while, neither of them making a move. Cass didn’t really do casual sex with groupies. She needed a deeper connection before she was willing to jump into bed with someone.

But this guy – oh, there was a connection there all right! She stared into his eyes and felt them piercing right into her soul.

“So,” she finally said, “wanna come to my hotel room?”

 

***

 

The room Cass stayed at was pretty large, with a sizeable double bed and a stacked minibar. She slipped out of her boots as soon as she stepped through the door and sat down at the edge of the bed, fanning air into her face with her hand. She felt hot. So, so hot.

“So your ex had a hair fetish, huh?”

Harold nodded. He had told her his name on the way to the hotel. She loved it. It reminded her of Anglo-Saxon kings and Viking raiders. It made her think of Harald Fairhair, the Viking king who refused to cut his hair until he conquered all of Norway…

Of course she had to think of that particular character. It was the hair. It was always the hair. Her greatest obsession, long kept secret, now revealed.

“She liked to get her hair cut down to almost nothing. Once a year, every summer, I would shave her head with a pair of clippers and we’d have the most amazing sex afterwards.” He chuckled. “The only thing she hated about her fetish was how long it took to grow her hair back, because cutting it when it was short didn’t do it for her. It had to be long for her to enjoy the cut. The greater the loss, the greater the pleasure.”

Cass moaned softly. The thought of Harold shaving down his girlfriend’s long hair to a tight clipper-cut was a wonderful image. “What hair color did she have?” she asked. “And why is she your ex now?”

“Auburn. And we both moved to different states after college, and long distance didn’t really work out for us. We’re still friends.” He grinned. “None of the men she tried to date in her new city understood her fetish, though, so we still meet up every couple of years. It’s been three years since we last met, and her hair has gotten quite long…”

“Oh my God,” Cass whispered. “And you’re going to cut it all off. All of it.”

“All of it.”

Cass reached for a box on the nightstand. It contained a pair of clippers, which she had put there in case the pixie cut wasn’t enough to satisfy her desire. After the amazing experience of at the concert, she thought it had been enough – but now, in here, alone with a man who understood her deepest fantasies, she decided to go all the way. Reduce her once-glorious mane to nothing but stubble.

She placed the clippers in his hands and said, “Do you want to help me finish the job?”

“With pleasure.”

She put a hand to his crotch and smiled. With pleasure, indeed. He was hard as a rock under his jeans.

When he switched on the clippers and the buzzing sound started to hum in her ears, she got to her knees and opened the button of his jeans. She put him into her mouth and rolled her tongue over the tip of his manhood. The clippers touched her forehead and plunged into her hairline, shearing off what was left of her hair. Thick clumps rained down before her eyes, and she was surprised at how much length she still had left. It was all gone now, all. When the clippers finished their job, even her eyebrows would be longer than the hair on her head.

The feeling of vibrating clippers running over her scalp was like an intense head massage. It was so amazing, she almost felt like her scalp had become the most erogenous zone of her body! But her womanhood kept screaming for attention, too. She slipped a hand below her panties and finally granted what it desired, while her tongue on Harold’s cock returned the favor.

She didn’t know what it felt like for a man to be sucked off, but she was sure it wasn’t half as intense as the feeling the roaring clippers sent through her scalp. Her hair kept falling, falling, falling until nothing was left.

Harold switched off the clippers and put them back into the box. Cass took him out of her mouth and ran both hands over her shorn head. The prickly feeling of the stubble rubbing across her palms brought her closer to orgasm than the workings of her fingers between her legs ever could. All her beautiful hair, gone. Gone. Shorn away in an act of passion.

She got to her feet and took off her clothes. Harold stripped naked, too. They jumped into bed together and embraced each other as lovers. Cass felt his big strong hands caress her scalp, and she ran hers through his long hair and put her lips against his beard, kissing him, loving him. His hair felt so soft and nice under her touch. And hers… hers was gone, reduced to stubble, a mere millimeter in length.

She loved it more than she had ever imagined. Robbed of her most beautiful feature, she was still beautiful. Harold kissed her, touched her, loved her. His member was hard and firm when he inserted it into her eager pussy. Even without hair, he found her desirable, and it turned her on so much.

The orgasm she had in his arms was stronger than any she ever felt before.

Afterwards, she fell asleep with her head lying on a few tufts of hair that had fallen onto the pillow during the shave. Even to get back to that length would take a few months at least. Her most secret fantasy finally fulfilled, and wrapped into the strong arms of a man who understood, she slept a deep, contented sleep, a permanent smile fixed on her face.

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