Conflicting Kinks

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When Lizzie had first met Adam, her hair hung to her waist. He showed an immediate fascination with it, though mostly from the opposite side of the room. By the time they next met several months later and finally held a proper conversation, Lizzie had chopped it up to her shoulders, a decision she regretted when he confessed that he found her more alluring before her haircut. Nonetheless, the pair clicked, and within a few weeks they became exclusive. Knowing Adam’s preference for long hair, Lizzie then resolved to growing her thick, chocolate locks back down to her waist, which of course delighted him.

The best part of two years later, she was finally nearing waist-length again. However, to complicate matters somewhat, Lizzie’s own kink conflicted entirely with her boyfriend’s: she liked having her hair cut. Indeed, that was the reason for her drastic haircut in the first place, something she’d done habitually since she was a teenager. She’d grow it out as long as she could bear – typically waist-length – only trimming the ends to keep her tresses immaculate. The longer her hair got, the more her gut nagged her to book an appointment for a proper haircut. Inevitably she’d give in, and her stylist always took great pleasure in shearing her silky locks far shorter than they deserved, much to the horror of any onlookers. That was always one of the most satisfying parts of the process, though the entire act turned her on in ways she couldn’t explain.

Having someone else’s interests to take into consideration rather hindered her decision-making, leaving her indecisive over whether or not to face up to her urges. It didn’t help that she’d never explained it to Adam, too embarrassed despite his openness about his own interests. Rather than own up, she continued playing along with his fetish, which mostly meant having her sleek mane brushed or otherwise pampered. Lizzie didn’t dislike it, in fact she loved having him caress her hair, be it with a brush or a comb or his fingers. But the thoughts she’d buried continued to pester her, morphing into fantasies about Adam cutting her hair bit by bit until there was nothing left to cut.

Tonight, it was business as usual. They sat right in the centre of the double bed they shared, both completely naked. They each sat cross-legged, with her back towards him. He sat close enough that his tibias rested against the back of her pointy hip bones, carefully running a wide-toothed wooden comb through her long, perfect tresses. It sank straight through the dense chocolate ocean with each stroke, swimming through the soft strands without a single inconsistency. She enjoyed the quiet swish of wood through silk, the way her hair felt against her bare skin, Adam’s gentle adjustments to her posture as he worked. Yet her mind still wandered elsewhere, to the same fantasy she’d dreamed of for the past two months. The one in which the primary sound was the violent snip of scissors and the hair she felt was severed from her head.

But why? Why couldn’t she just enjoy what she had? Any ordinary woman would dream of having a partner as indulgent as Adam. Could she not have suffered from any other fetish than the exact opposite one to him?

Suddenly, the brushing stopped. “You alright, Lizzie? Your breathing went all funny.”

She hadn’t realised, but he was right; she was puffing in and out loud and sharp, a symptom of her exasperation with herself. “I’m… having an argument in my head. With myself.”

“About what?”

Lizzie couldn’t find the nerve to answer immediately, as much as she tried. He didn’t press her, just stroked her hair lovingly with his fingers while he waited. Though the gesture was intended to ease her nerves, it did the opposite, but she said nothing to stop him.

More than a minute later, she finally managed to get the ball rolling. “Hey, Adam?”


“You don’t have to say yes to this if you’re not comfortable doing it, but I was wondering if…”

She tailed off, and he had to nudge her gently, still slowly sifting through her hair with his fingers. “Wondering if I’d do what, babe?”

She felt herself turn tomato-coloured, to the extent that he probably noticed despite the fact that the back of her head made up most of his field of vision. “I know this is weird, but I wondered if you would ever consider giving me a haircut.”

Adam barely altered his movement at all, but a tiny hiccup in his path suggested that her request caught him off-guard, and he needed to repeat it aloud to ensure he hadn’t misheard her. “You want me to cut your hair?”

“I know it’s weird,” she said again, “and I know you like my hair the way it is. And I love having you brush it for me and how you play with it and everything, which only makes me feel weirder about thinking this, but I have this… this… desire to have you cut it. I don’t know why, and I don’t know when it first started, but I’ve been thinking about it every time we’ve done this for the past couple of months. It’s been nagging me more and more every single time.”

Her posture slumped at her embarrassment at revealing her unconventional kink, and Adam finally stopped toying with her lovely locks. He remained behind her, though he leaned over her shoulder and hugged both arms around her middle.

“It’s not that weird, Lizzie. You don’t have to be self-conscious; after all, you already know that what I’m into isn’t exactly conventional either.”

“But what I’m into takes away from what you like.”

He shook his head. “More than anything, I like making you happy. If that’s what’ll do that, then I’ll cut your hair.”

She glanced towards him, her head still slightly bowed. “Really?”

“Of course. You should have told me sooner; I hate to think I’ve been bugging you every time I ask to do anything with your hair.”

“It’s not that you’ve been bugging me. I do genuinely love having you play with it, it’s just that my mind goes down this rabbit hole and then…”

Adam pecked her on the cheek, then released her. “I get it, don’t worry. In a weird way, I think I might enjoy cutting it.”

Hearing that relieved some of the tension in her chest, and half a smile crossed her face. “Do you mean that?”

“Yeah. Hard to explain why, but something about the idea seems kind of exciting. As if I’m doing something I know I shouldn’t.” He shuffled his way to the edge of the bed. “Do you happen to have a set of scissors lying around?”

She did. Good ones too, proper hairdressing scissors that she’d bought in a moment of impulse after realising that the urge to cut her hair was a recurring one. Since then, they’d been hiding in one of the nightstand’s drawers, along with a more conventional plastic hairdressing comb. Adam found them within seconds of starting his search, then returned to his spot behind her, once again parked as close as physically possible.

He ventured through her as-yet intact tresses with the new comb, meeting exactly the same resistance – or rather, lack of – as before. “I should probably ask; how short do you want me to cut it?”

“Well, I’d like it to be more than a little trim, but it doesn’t have to be short. What would you be comfortable with?”

“Shoulder-length, maybe? That way it’s still somewhat long at least, but I’d still be cutting maybe eight or ten inches. Plus, I reckon can cut a straight, blunt line to finish it off even if I don’t have much hairdressing experience.”

“That sounds good.”

“That’s what I’ll do, then.”

He stopped the comb mid-stroke at the base of her neck and brought the scissors up to their target. The cool metal brushed her skin as the open blades slotted around either side of her hair, and her heartrate skyrocketed in the same moment. This wasn’t how it had happened in her fantasies. Should she let him cut it that way, the whole process would be over in a minute flat.

“Umm, Adam?” she squeaked, before he could bring himself to close the scissors.


“Would you mind if… I’m sorry if this is weird again, but I’d really like you to drag the process out as long as possible.”

He removed the scissors. “That’s okay, I can do it in little snips if that’s better. Whatever makes you happy.”

“Thank you.”

“Anything else?”

“I’d quite like it if the cuttings fell on me rather than on you.”

“I can do that as well.” He put his hands on her shoulders and subtly adjusted her posture. “Sit nice and straight for me and clasp your hands in your lap. I might tilt your head, but otherwise stay still. Okay?”


The comb made another few passes through her hair first of all, then Adam collected a long section and swept it up over her head. He held the end of the section between his index and middle finger, then spent a few seconds deliberating over how much to chop. Finally, he opened the set of scissors and lined them up across the face of his fingers.


Chocolate cuttings sprinkled down to Lizzie’s lap, each perhaps half an inch in length. Adam dropped the section he’d cut, letting it flop against her back and swing side-to-side, then gathered its neighbour above her head.

“Is this alright?” he asked.

“This is perfect.”



The slow sound of metal crunching through her sleek hair made her heart pulse faster again, even though the cuttings were minimal. It was happening, it was actually happening. She’d pictured it a hundred times, but this was another level of exhilarating. She watched the little clippings fall to her bare legs, pitter-pattering like a gentle drizzle against a window. They were fuzzy and ticklish, alluringly soft against her naked skin.

As Adam repeated the process, he gradually got the hang of the technique he chose to employ and grew more and more efficient in doing so. That meant less time spent on the build-up – less combing, less measuring, less admiring – but much less time between snips of the scissors as a result. His slow, overly-cautious snips became controlled one-two combinations, more and more certain of their capabilities every time they opened and closed. While the initial slow crunches doubled her heartrate, the sharper, faster snips left her heady in an entirely different way.

Lizzie lost track of time in the hypnotic repetition of the process, too focussed on the tingles that aroused her various senses: the gorgeous sound of the scissors chopping through her silky locks, cleaving through so smoothly and easily; the fascinating sight of petite trimmings showering before her very eyes and nestling over her lap like an unknit blanket; the titillating touch of those brown cuttings against her naked body and her still-long tresses splashing against her back after their latest trim. Not once did she shift in her spot or unlink her fingers, only moving when Adam’s warm hands touched her skin to tilt her a couple of millimetres this way or that.

Though she was well aware of the growing pile of hair across her crossed legs, Lizzie didn’t register the change in her hair length until the section Adam released bounced against her shoulder and dangled loose around her face. It reached her armpits, meaning the blanket of debris must have comprised six or seven inches of her hair.

Adam tugged the loose locks back over Lizzie’s shoulder, then paused his cutting duties to run the comb through what was left. “How would you feel about keeping it this length?”

She didn’t know. The entire experience had passed her by so quickly, she could barely believe how much he’d cut. She was acutely aware, however, that calling it a day here meant they could re-enact the scene much sooner than would otherwise be possible. An extra three inches shorter might prolong the activity slightly, but it would also mean an extra six months to have to grow her hair out for. Plus, it would keep Adam happier than a return to shoulder-length hair.

“I think you’re right,” she said. “Let’s call it there, this time at least.”

He sniggered. “Got the next one planned already, have you?”

She nodded. “I’ll grow it out for the next year until it’s waist-length again, then we can do this again.”

“Sounds fair. Let me tidy up the ends, then we can clean up.”

He lined up the scissors like in his original plan, albeit further down her back than they’d originally agreed. The contrast between hard metal and soft hair against her back amused her, but she kept up her statuesque posture while he finished the final cut. He took several minutes to be absolutely certain that the ends of her hair couldn’t be blunter, then put the scissors and comb to one side and slid his hands down her back.

“There we go, beautiful. How’s that? Did you enjoy it as much as you’d hoped?”

At last she dug her hands out of the rubbish pile to stroke through her freshly-cut hair. “It was amazing. I can’t describe it, just…” She leaned over to him to gently smooch him on the lips. “Thank you for doing this for me.”

“Happy to.” He dusted the huge pile of hair from her lap to the bedsheet. “I guess we’d better sort this out next. Then I’m going back to brushing your hair again.”

She sniggered, an enormous grin still plastered across her face. “Alright, that sounds fair. I hope you don’t mind that it’s not as long anymore.”

“Worth it to make you smile like that. It’ll grow back.”

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