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As much as I loved him, Rishi often drove me nuts. While most of his screw-ups amused me, this last time it did not bode well. Because it was me who had fucked up. Real bad.

Now, a little background to our relationship – we’re nothing special, Rishi and I. But boy, are we as similar as chalk and cheese. He’s cheerful and extroverted, I’m cautious and reserved. He cannot sit still for a second, I would rather not move at all. He’s open to new experiences, I fear change. There’s only one glaring similarity I think – we love each other. Nearly four years of dating and one of living together, I didn’t think there was much to him I didn’t know about. Or so I thought.

While our sex life has lacked for nothing, it did get quite routine after spending so much time together. But when he suggested we try power play, I was completely on board.

Truth be told, I’m more submissive than I like to let on.

And so, we started, simple things. He’d tell me to strip and flop fell the clothes. He’d pound into me calling me his little pet and I’d moan in pleasure. He’d take away my underwear as I’d get dressed, and I’d die little deaths throughout the day, legs shaking against my skirt.

And I fucking loved it.

Which brings me here, standing in front of him in a full-blown argument.

“Why the fuck would you think I did not want my jersey, Madhu?” he roars into my face. The jersey was something he’d treasured from his football days in college.

I wince and try to calm him down, putting my hand on his shoulder. “Babe, I’m sorry. I did not know it was in the same bag as the one we were giving away. I wouldn’t-”

He shakes my hand off him roughly. I bite back tears, looking away from his murderous face. “I’m sorry. I really am.”

“No, you’re not,” he scoffs. “You always knew how important it was to me, yet you never once bothered to check.”

Now I was angry. “I said I didn’t know! Why would I lie?”

He strides over into my face, sneering down at me. “Because you’re a little bitch.”

I gasp, he’d never called me names. But for some weird reason, it tingled. In a good way.

“Strip,” he crosses his hands in front of me, looking expectant.

I gape at him, wondering if he’s being serious. Right now?

“You know what happens if I have to repeat myself.”

I swallow and pull the t shirt over my head. With shaking hands, I unzip my jeans and move them to the side with my feet, gulping in my bra and panties.

“Get rid of the bra too.”

I comply hastily and he appraises my body, for possibly the thousandth time. He comes forward and cups my left breast in his hand and pulls at my nape to look up at him.

“You know, I have some plans for you. I lost something, you lose something too.”

I blink at his face and he quickly picks me up and takes me into the kitchen. He sets me down in front of the kitchen island and nods at the stool, beckoning me to sit. I can see he’s already hard beneath his shorts as he moves towards our bedroom. He comes back without his T-shirt, but his eyes hold excitement.

Now, I’m scared.

He walks around me going up to my back, grasps my braid and pulls at it.

“Ouch,” I wince. “Rishi, what are you doing?”

He pulls my braid in front of me and bends down onto his knees.

“You know the safety word,” he shrugs and lightly caresses my cheek before getting back around to my backside.

I have no idea what he’s doing but when I hear the sound of scissors scrunching through my beloved hair, it almost takes everything in me not to fly off the stool. After nearly an endless 30 seconds, he throws the part he’d severed into my lap. He’d cut off my hair from right above the band I’d used to fasten my braid at the end.

Nearly five inches gone from my near hip length hair.

I loved my hair and so did Rishi. It was luscious and soft and shiny, and honestly, very easy to maintain. Falling down in long, straight sheets, I considered it my one beauty.

At least, it was.

Rishi gently tugs my teary face around with a sigh. He pulls a chunk from my left side to the front and when I realize it now falls at about elbow, a tear slips down my eye.

His eyes are steely, when they wipe it off. “I’m not going to stop. It’s up to you.”

I gulp when he starts to comb my hair, pulling out my clips he’d gotten from our room from his pocket. He’s gentle yet determined. He parts the hair at the top of my head from that which was ear length and below and clips it all away.

I feel his careful combing along my bare back. He goes again and again, making sure it’s all perfectly aligned. When I think he’s finally satisfied, there’s a pause.

I feel the cold sting of the scissors a couple of inches from the bottom. I sigh softly to myself, maybe wouldn’t go very far. I feel little snips as he cuts away maybe three inches across, the tips tickling me as they stick to my skin.

But not a second after he finished, I feel the cold again around five inches from there, which I assume is were my bra strap would have been had I been wearing it. Involuntarily, I flinch and he grabs my shoulders tightly from behind, and says with a steely voice, “Do not move, Madhu.”

I freeze and tears well in my eyes. But Rishi is probably thinking otherwise.

He grabs my hair into a bunch, and all I know is that he’s hacking it off at some length I can’t guess. Except it’s much, much shorter. When the shorn locks fling into place about a couple of inches from my shoulder, I use everything in me to not hold them and see.

When he’s done going through, he comes and hunches in front of me, and nearly a foot length of my hair in his hands. I can’t even get any words out as he pulls my hair forward, now only ending a few inches below my shoulders.

“I think I like this,” he murmurs, pushing it away as he gets up, placing the shorn hair on my lap gently. He unfastens the clip holding the hair at the top and it falls down in two long chunks on either side of my face.

Rishi starts combing my hair again, this time, combing it all forward on either side. I gulp when he brushes the comb over my breasts, his fingers sending tingling touches all along me despite the loss I was feeling.

After about a couple more minutes of meticulous brushing, he smiles down at me.

“You know, you remind me of Lady Godiva right now,” he runs a hand through my soft hair, completely covering my breasts. “And as beautiful as it is, I’d much rather see more of you.”

He stands in front of my legs, thrusting his hard erection into my thighs. He carefully grabs the scissors from the table and starting cutting my hair on the left, to the same length as the part in the back, along my collarbone.

With each snip, my breast comes into view and hair pools into my lap. I begin to feel a wetness and when he’s done with the whole section, I grab his crotch and he looks at me lustily, his hand moving to fondle my exposed breast.

He gives me a little squeeze and I moan, and because we’re in a rush, he holds the remaining long hair on the right in a bunch and hacks it off a couple of inches below my shoulder bone. Nearly a foot and a half length of hair hangs from his hands and he tickles my boob with it.

“Now I can see your boobs and pull on your lovely hair at the same time,” he smirks, dropping it into my lap.

I look around me, little bits sticking all over my body and piles of hair all around the kitchen. I get up and swing my head around, and slightly uneven as it is, my hair is now in a long shoulder length bob of sorts. All around my feet, long tendrils fall from my lap.

“You didn’t use the safe word,” he cocks his head to the side, kissing me on my nose.

“I know,” I smile against his lips.




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