Corrine’s Game

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And then without warning, they were both dancing.

That’s how Rishi thought of it now, looking back to the morning he had first really “met” Corrine after working with her in her department as an IT contractor for three weeks. That fate-heavy conversation that sprung from a haircut.

He had come to the city to do this upgrade but had seen enough of it now in his off-hours that he found a warm fondness in him start to grow much as it had with the slightly sad-eyed Corrine who nevertheless had come to beam a sunny smile at his arrival each morning. It was because of this smile (somewhat out of character her co-workers told him slyly) that he had decided that something needed to be done about his shaggy head of thick, black hair and had randomly selected a barbershop one morning. But the results were beyond what he had expected and he wound up with something much shorter than conceived.

So it was with trepidation that he went to work right after, still smelling of talc and the hairdressing that made his naturally shiny hair gleam and his ears feeling enormous beneath the skinned edges of the far-higher than requested fade. When she saw it, Corinne’s mouth fell slightly open in what Rishi thought was a not at all unattractive way and she grinned broadly at him as his ears reddened. Defensively he blurted “I guess I picked the wrong barber.”

“I don’t know about that,” she replied, stepping closer than she ever had before to study his head and almost reaching up to touch the slightly raw-looking skin where the razor had so recently and unexpectedly struck. But she dropped her hand quickly this being the workplace. He felt even more embarrassed and yes, aroused by this and felt some need to respond.

“Clearly not a problem you ever faced,” he said pointing to her thick, heavy bun she was famous for in the office and, instead of the expected airy laugh in return she gave the tiniest of starts and tensed a little as if he had accidentally brushed up against some ticklish spot. Not sure what do Rishi added: “I understand how much work you must put into its care. I used to help my mother and aunts, who raised me, with their’s when they all wore their’s very long.”

Corinne was listening intently, maybe even controlling her breathing when she next asked: “When they wore it long? What do you mean?” She was the one blushing now and her eyes held the merest fever in them at the anticipation of his answer. “Oh,” he told her suddenly liking his haircut, “I grew up in India… let’s just say for now they were all very grateful when I got my post-graduate degree.”

Her face dropped at hearing no more than this hint and she looked about uncomfortably like being shaken from a daydream. The sudden loss of her interest struck him like a blow and in desperation, he surprised himself by asking her out a second later. That was the moment when their dance started.

He learned its steps and rhythms and what moved her in the intervening years and especially her favorite tunes. This morning he could see it was time for one of them for instead of settling down in the backless chair before her vanity for his daily attentions with comb and brush as was their habit she had wadded her dark walnut locks up into an unkempt mass at her neck with a Minnie Mouse scrunchie, the clear signal they were tuning up to play Corrine’s Game.

Wearing only a loose robe of a girlish flowered print she slumped on the couch sullenly watching cartoons on TV. Rishi “knew his lines” for this sort of play and gently prodded her repeatedly for the next half hour with a decidedly parental tone to brush her rat’s nest of hair only to be met with evasion or refusal in her own tonal counterpoint of a peevish child. His in turn became more irritated with each bratty rebuke until strains of controlled anger began to slowly swell.

“I’ve had enough of this young lady!” he snapped and snatched up his phone pretending to make an appointment for her at a local salon in a volume she could hear above the cartoons.

“Good.” she huffed at him “The salon can give me the pretty braids I want but you’re too dumb to do.” He regarded her cooly and said “You’re not going there for that. I’m fed up with fighting with you about it and you’re going to get it cut.”

“Wha.. no!”, she cried spinning around on the couch to look at him as a hand flew protectively to her messy ponytail, “Cut? Cut how!?!” she demanded to know. Rishi picked up his tablet and joined her on the couch all the while making a series of soothing, shushing sounds. He brought up the pictures he had prepared (many of which she had chosen and included a couple of what she called “the biggest mistake of my life” from long before they had met) and began to cajole her softly while showing her the photos of various kinds of bobs, telling her how pretty and grown-up she would look and how much easier it would be for her to take care of. So much easier, she wouldn’t even need his help. She looked at each picture with increasing horror and denial, her fingers interlocked behind her head to incase it within her arms to shield it.

“NO NO NO NO!” she screamed, unable to bear the images of naked necklines and short bangs-fringed foreheads, “I won’t! I won’t let you! You can’t make me!” she shrieked at him as she tore the tablet from his hand and flung it (carefully despite her outward fury) onto the cushions of the chair next to the couch. With both hands, she began to slap wildly at him and this was his cue to snake his own hand between the ineffectual flailing and seize her tightly by the hair at the nape of her neck. Corrine gasped and cried out as he pulled tightly again and again finally using his grip in her disarray of soft strands to lever her across his knee with little squirming assists from her to maneuver the generous adult bulk of her body into just the right position.

With his right hand firmly clutching her hair at the nape and her mons balanced on the point of his knee, Rishi used his dominate hand to raise the hem of the girlish robe and began to spank her soundly with slowly increasing force while she struggled and ground herself lewdly on his kneecap.

“You! will! get! your! hair! cut! Short!” he said sternly to her as he sensed her approaching climax, punctuating each word with his palm on her redding buttocks or a sharp pull on her hair, “You will do as I say and get it cut the way I want! It’s going to be cut! Cut short! Cut, cut, cut…” he continued until he felt her rock and shiver with violent orgasm.

He released her and they both took a moment to catch their breaths, but this was just a rest in the music. This dance was far from over.

When a short time had passed he began again, picking up his phone and again pretended to call the salon but this time to cancel the previous make-believe appointment. Corrine listened intently her hands nervously smoothing her dark brown locks which when loosened hung to below her waistline.

“Does that mean I don’t have to get my hair cut tomorrow?” she asked hopefully. “It does.” he replied icily, “Because you’re getting your hair cut today and where I’m taking you we won’t need an appointment”.

Her face which had brightened to a smile hearing the first part instantly turned to horror at hearing the last.

“Where are you taking me?” she whispered, thrillingly terrified of the answer. “To the barbershop,” he snapped back, “Before it was just practical but now you will be punished for your behavior and to teach you to obey be. And don’t think you’re going to get something feminine and pretty, like a nice bob. I’m going to tell the barber to cut it all off short, like a boy.”

This proclamation brought Corrine springing to her feet with renewed mock hysteria shrilly whining she would never submit, she would kick and scream and run away if he so much as even took her near a barbershop. To this, he responded by again grabbing her by the hair and forcing her across the back of the couch her ample behind raised high in the air so his blows could more easily reach their target of the “sweet spot” on her lower cheeks. As she hung there making sobbing sounds on tip-toes with her face hidden and drowned under a waterfall of a french roast river that cascaded to the floor in front of her he slowly and forcefully spanked her telling her the whole time she was going to behave herself and would sit still for her haircut if he had to blister her bottom right there in front of everyone.

She jerked and cowered and stroked the supple dark waves that muffled her moans as he told her how she would wait quietly like a good girl until it was her turn then get in the big chair and feel the paper strip being put around her neck and then the pin-stipped cape and hearing him tell the barber what how short to cut it and how it would be brushed out over the barber cape all long and shiny like a princess from a fairytale and then its thickness gathered into a fat ponytail and how the big scissors would sound… all the time keeping his other hand in the wetness between her legs while he smacked her until several more orgasms came exploding out of her like 4th of July fireworks.

He left her there sprawled limply across the spine of the couch and went to collect one of the dining room chairs. Lifting her up limp and weak he slipped off her robe as he guided her to the chair and sat her down in it naked.

“What are you doing?” she asked meekly all the fight and defiance gone from her now. His answer was to jerk her head back by her hair and click on the electric clippers in his hand which sprung to menacing life with a pop close to her ear that sounded as loud as a gunshot to her.

” Clearly can’t trust you not to behave like a brat at the barber and I won’t have you embarrassing me there. So I’m going to punish you right now!” Their buzzing sound as chilling as the growl of a predator in the night he brought them down to her forehead and ran them over the crown of her head.

It had taken but a tiny bit of his engineering skills to devise this toy for them by removing the cutting blades but leaving the exciting vibrations that pitched her crying and begging to its crescendo. She shook her head away from the horrible/thrilling noise and Rishi moved around to the front of the chair to force her head down and he stepped on the ends of her hair to hold her there. Pinned, she flung her arms around his thighs and pushed the top of her head into the front of his pajamas begging him not to shave all her beautiful hair off promising she would be good and how she’d take care of it from now on and how much she loved it when he helped her.

He hesitated and lifted the humming clippers from her nape where he had pressed them so she could “watch it all hit the floor” as he had told her and took off his tee-shirt and pajama pants muttering that he didn’t want hair all over his clothes. Gipping him by his buttocks Corrine rubbed her incredibly soft, silken hair on his erection as he returned the threatening clippers to her nape. Continuing her litany of earnest promises of reform she kept pleading for it not to be cut as she used it to caress his testicles and perineum and then the shaft of his cock until he came with the bright white jet from its tip landing on her head in stark contrast to the rich depth of dark, lustrous brown.

This particular dance – erotic and violent – always ended with them both in the bathroom where he would return to their usual loving care of her resplendent locks with a long gentle washing. Her hair had been like a beloved companion to her almost all her life except for a single time she had fallen into bad internet company and had betrayed it so terribly clumsily following a kinky itch that it took over a decade of misery for it to return to her. But now she and Rishi shared it like a common lover, “our unicorn” he would quip as he dressed it skillfully each day with the devotion of a worshipper in the typical slower tempos of their dance.

Except on days like today when he could see it was time to play Corrine’s Game again.

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