Leaving It to Chance

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This one is another experiment, using a random number generator and flipping some coins as I go, so I apologize if there’s not much action. Let’s see what happens…

Leaving It to Chance


Ashley sat in a lounge chair in a cabana on the spa’s Bayfront deck, ensconced in nothing but a lush robe while drinking mimosas and nibbling strawberries with her two best friends,  On one level, she couldn’t believe she had agreed to what lay ahead of her. But on another — on a level she wouldn’t admit existed to many people — it didn’t surprise her at all.

It’d been a simple girls’ day to start; a fun day of being pampered meant to celebrate all three of them turning twenty-five this year. Part of that pampering included coveted appointments at the spa’s five-star salon. When that was introduced as a possibility as plans were made, it spurred Ashley to agree, no matter the cost. Her hair was pretty enough, she thought, tumbling halfway down her back in sleek, black waves that complemented her big, light grey eyes and expressive brows quite nicely, but the idea of a stylist of such skill taking the time to style and treat her silky locks… how could she say no? 

But then Sloane, the always impulsive and brazen Sloane, with her masses of waist-length golden blonde waves that were almost always perfectly parted to hide one of her almond-shaped, soft brown eyes, suggested they all just let the stylists do whatever they wanted. No rules, no limits, and, most importantly, no suggestions. Just, “Whatever you want.”

The idea terrified Ashley when it was suggested, as did just thinking about it now. She took a long sip of her drink in the hopes it would arouse some courage within her, but it didn’t. She remained scared of what was to come, and that, in effect, aroused something else within her. 

Ashley loved being terrified. It was a kink that played into her natural submissiveness in some ways, and because of that she knew just handing someone else the reins of what happened to her beautiful, treasured hair was a bad, bad idea. But once Grace, the brunette Lady Godiva of the bunch with ridiculously thick, perfectly straight locks that hung past her hips, agreed to the stupid idea, there was no way Ashley could back out without being a spoilsport and killjoy. 

And so she found herself sitting on this perfect deck in the perfect weather with her two best friends in the world, sunglasses on and drink in hand, waiting for what could be the executioner’s call for her crowning glory. Or maybe not. Maybe she’d only get the faintest of trims, just a slight little touch-up only the most observant of people would notice. That was very much a possibility… but she had no say in the matter.

And that was causing her to soak her panties, right there next to her completely oblivious friends.

“You look nervous, Ash.”

Ashley startled, blinking as she looked at Sloane. “What? Nervous? No. Why would I be nervous?”

Sloane smiled, running her fingers through the soft golden locks she’d gathered over her left shoulder as she lay back in her chair. “You just look extremely tense for someone who just had a massage.”

Grace nodded in agreement, flipping the thick, heavy braid her hair had been fashioned into over the back of her lounger. “Just remember that this place has an incredible reputation, so even though we’re going to let them do whatever they want, it’s not like you’re going to wind up with your head shaved or blue hair or anything.”

Ashley squeaked at the thought of being given such an extreme look against her will, but not for the reason her friends thought. She suddenly found herself hoping and praying that her stylist wound up being an old, smoke-voiced woman. That at least might dampen whatever effects everything else had on her.

“Yeah,” Sloane concurred. “We’re going to look amazing. Maybe completely different, but amazing. This place doesn’t have a single bad review online, and that’s almost impossible.”

“Everybody loves to complain online,” Grace agreed.

“And how often are all of us single at the same time? This is the perfect time to try it.”

“No boyfriends to whine or throw a tantrum about the smallest trim,” Grace added. “It’s like stars aligned.”

Sloane patted Ashley’s hand, smiling warmly. “It’s going to be fun.”

Fun, Ashley thought. Yeah. Sure. Just fun. Not arousing and panty-soaking in any way, for certain.

“Ladies, if I can interrupt?” 

Ashley turned to see their attendant for the day, a young woman with a sharply cut, dark bob wearing the usual light clothing you saw employees of places like this in. 

“If you’re ready, I can take you to the salon for your afternoon appointments,” she said. “Or if you’d prefer more time…”

“Nope!” Sloane said excitedly. “We’re ready! Right, Ashley?”

Ashley swallowed, and then nodded before finishing off her drink. “Yup. We’re ready.”


Sloane followed the attendant with the other girls, an excited giddiness building in her stomach as they walked to the salon. She shook out her soft, silky locks as she did, running her fingers through their length – the same length her hair had been for as long as she could remember, with the same golden coloring and natural highlights. It was the sort of hair people always warned shouldn’t be messed with, and so she never had.

As a result, the idea of changing up her long waves really appealed to her. It was just a bonus that she’d convinced her two equally change-averse friends to go along with it.

Before being led to a stylist’s station, the girls were taken to have their hair shampooed, and experience Sloane hadn’t expected to enjoy quite as much as she did. The young stylist assistant – a cute fellow who couldn’t have been far out of high school – knew what to do with his fingers as he worked, gently massaging Sloane’s scalp as his hands moved through her hair. The shampoo smelled wonderful as well, tickling her nose and eliciting a small sigh of contentment as she relaxed in the lounge chair. All too soon, the treatment was over, her long, thick waves were dried, and then the assistant led her away from the other girls and to a small, semi-private alcove where a chair and several tall mirrors awaited her. Small, wheeled counters formed a semi-circle, covered with various tools of the hair stylist trade, and, at the assistant’s urging, Sloane settled into the chair with a smile.

“Sarah will be with you in a moment. Can I get you some champagne in the meantime?”

“You most certainly can.”

The assistant nodded and went off on his way, leaving Sloane to gather her hair in front of her shoulders to admire it in her reflection. Her heart was beginning to beat faster, and she reminded herself that, being as pretty as it was, the stylist might not do anything major to it. They might even just be lazy, and decide permission to do anything was permission to give a nice, easy trim and blow out and be done with it. So who could tell? Tomorrow, she might wind up wearing her usual, casual ponytail.

Or she could be wearing a mohawk.

She laughed at that idea, and glanced around the high class salon. There was no way there ever was a mohawk in this place, much less one created here.

Sloane didn’t wait long for her champagne or for Sarah, as the stylist showed up almost in tandem with her assistant and the flute he carried. Sarah’s smile was bright, creating deep, adorable dimples as she introduced herself. Predictably for someone who worked in a place like this, she was very well put together, and looked to be just a few years older than Sloane, with similar golden blonde hair that was just a bit lighter and a few inches shorter. It fell past her shoulders in wavy layers, and Sloane immediately felt at ease with the idea of putting her crowning glory’s fate in this woman’s hands

After introductions were made, Sarah stepped behind Sloane and played with her hair a bit before settling her hands on Sloane’s shoulders. “So, what are we doing today? A little trim and a subtle brightening of the color?”

Sloane took a sip of her champagne and smiled. “If that’s what you’d like, but I’m giving you carte blanche. Do whatever you want.”

Sarah’s dark eyebrows lifted. “Whatever I want?”

Sloane nodded. “I’m ready for something different, and my friends and I thought it’d be fun if we all let our stylists decide what to do.” She shrugged and grinned. “So, have at it. Do whatever you like.” Then she let herself go a little serious. “As long as it looks good.”

Sarah smiled, and nodded sagely. “Of course. Though, if we’re being honest, I think it’d be really hard to make you or your hair look bad. I feel like I’m cheating a bit.” Gathering the long, wavy blonde locks in question back into a ponytail, Sarah took her time in looking Sloane over, to the point Sloane felt her cheeks start to warm with a blush.

“Have you always worn your hair long?” Sarah asked.

Sloane nodded. “For as long as I can remember. Not always this long, though. It’s a personal record for me.”

“And always blonde?”

Sloane nodded again. “Natural color. It tends to be curlier when shorter, though.”

“And bangs?”

“Never. Always one length or lightly layered.” She felt her heartbeat quickening again, as she could almost hear the gears turning in Sarah’s head. She was actually doing this… just putting all of her hair on the line without knowing what the outcome would be.

“Okay,” Sarah finally said, letting Sloane’s locks fall free down the back of the chair. “Do you want me to tell you what I’m thinking, or to just go for it?”

Sloane giggled, the anticipation in her stomach roiling again. “Don’t tell me! I want to be surprised.”

Sarah smiled as she reached for a spray bottle and her comb. “Alright then. Let’s get started.”


Semi-serious pangs of guilt wracked Grace as the woman who had washed her abundant hair led her toward her assigned stylist’s chair. Grace could only imagine how tired the assistant’s hands and arms must be at this point, and she tried to smile extra graciously as the assistant gestured toward the chair. 

The handoff was quick, as the stylist was already standing nearby, organizing her equipment on its various carts as Grace sat down. When the woman turned, her eyes widened. “Holy cow,” she said with a smile, her eyes widening under the curtain of brown corkscrew bangs. 

Grace smiled bashfully. “Yeah, that’s usually the reaction when stylists first see me.” It was a reaction she was familiar with and, frankly, tired of. She was tired of it because it always almost immediately led to forceful objections if Grace dared to ask for anything more than a healthy trim – not that she ever really did. The only reason Grace’s hair was now long enough to sit on was because she grew tired of those forceful reactions, tired to the point of not having asked for a serious cut in years. 

That was partly why she loved on Sloane’s idea – with the right stylist, she could finally look different. Completely different! Maybe blonde, or red. Maybe with a cropped pixie or corkscrew curls like those that sprung like ponytailed explosion from the stylist’s crown. 

She’d be happy with anything, as long as it was different and would finally end the idea that she could never be anything but the dark-haired Rapunzel or Godiva of every social group she was a part of.

That said, the stylist’s initial reaction did not create a lot of hope for Grace.

“Sorry,” the woman said with a smile. “I’m Alicia.” A few pleasantries were exchanged as she stepped behind Grace, her fingers slowly sifting through the wealth of chocolate-brown locks. Once the light conversation was done, Alicia smiled into the mirrors surrounding her station. “I feel like you’re going to make my day. Is there anything specific you had in mind, or do I just get to pamper and play with all this all afternoon?”

Grace smiled, realizing that maybe there was some hope for some excitement after all. “Actually, my friends and I decided to leave that in your hands. We’re all letting our stylists do whatever they want.”

Alicia’s bright eyes widened again. “Then this really is my lucky day. Nothing’s off the table?”


Alicia’s expression telegraphed her doubt, and Grace laughed. “Seriously. Nothing is off the table, except that it has to be professionally acceptable.”

Alicia’s mouth scrunched to the side as her fingers played through Grace’s silky hair some more. “Okay, that’s not a terrible constraint. I feel like a may have to sharpen my blades a few times before I’m done with it all.”

Grace grinned. “Get to it, then.”


If fidgeting and squirming were Olympic sports, Ashley knew she’d have more gold medals than she could wear at one time. Sitting in the stylist’s chair, a flute of champagne in each hand, she bounced her knees continuously as she looked at herself in the mirror. She knew she should be a puddle of relaxation after the treatment the assistant had just shown her treasured locks, the soft, gentle pampering and the very, very much appreciated scalp massage, but here she was anyway, the poster child of tension and fear. 

Her hair looked amazing. Not as long as the other girls, no, but so soft and shiny, falling down past her shoulders and over her breasts in glistening waves. She’d been growing it out – her dream hair belonged to Grace, and she’d been looking forward to having an awe-inspiring mane just like that within a few years. But now… now it might be taken away at someone else’s whim, someone she didn’t even know, had never met, and might never see again.

She finished the drink in her left hand and set it on a nearby cart. She could back out. She could just tell the others she went through with it but that the stylist was boring – they’d never know. 

With luck, her stylist would be some old lady, like her mom, who inspired absolutely none of the fear or submissiveness that could push her dream-mane back more years than she cared to count.

As she drank down her second flute, she caught sight of her stylist approaching in the mirrors and could practically hear those hope shattering against his reflection. Tall and well-built without being obnoxiously so, he had short, nearly buzzed, blonde hair and dark, warm eyes that lit up as she smiled at her with perfect teeth.

Ashley felt any hope of not giving him complete control. Her knees stilled, her thighs instead pressing together as she felt a warmth down there building. 

“Ashley?” he asked.

She swallowed the last of her drink and nodded.

“I’m Ken,” he said, taking the empty glass from her. “What were you thinking of letting me do to you today?”

Ashley looked away, hoping he couldn’t see her eyes widening in the mirror as she muffled an unintentional squeak. She couldn’t look away for long, though, as he set his fingertips on each side of her head and gently guided her gaze back toward the mirrors. He began to play with her long locks, splaying them out across her robe before gathering them back and lifting them away from her elegant neck, the cool air in the salon doing nothing to spare her the heated thoughts of how this handsome man’s lips would feel pressed against her nape. 

“Ashley?” he asked again.

She swallowed, snapping back to attention. “Oh. Uhm. I didn’t… I mean… nothing? I mean, nothing in mind. I didn’t have anything in mind.” Nothing she would admit to, at least. “My friends… my friends and I thought it’d be fun to… you know, just, whatever.”

“Just whatever?” He set her hair down, letting it fall across her back as he began to rub her slender shoulders, his thumbs working at the base of her neck. 

Eyes closing, she nodded. 

“No guidance whatsoever?”

“Not too short,” she heard herself say. Her eyes opened. “No, I mean, whatever you want. That was what we decided.”

He grinned. “That leaves me a lot of options, then, considering how gorgeous your features are.”

She hoped, fruitlessly, that her blush wasn’t as noticeable as it felt. 

He laughed. “Seriously!” He gathered her hair back again, and nudged her chin from side to side with a thumb. “You have perfectly delicate features, and those gorgeous, big eyes. And your hairline is perfect.” With a plop, her hair fell free around her again. “But you’re a little scared, aren’t you?”

Reddening again, she reluctantly nodded.

“I could just give you a trim and some layering.”

Ashley absolutely loved that idea, but couldn’t help but feel everyone else involved in this endeavor – Grace and Sloane, specifically, but also Ken – would be really disappointed in that. 

“But you’re afraid your friends will think you wussed out.”

She took a breath. “Yeah.”

“But you also kind of biased me against doing anything too new or exciting for you.”

She poked her bottom lip out in a pout, surprised at how easily she was starting to see him as some kind of caring, soft-touch top. “I’m sorry.” She bit back hard on the master. Good god, how she wanted to call him Master.

His eyes flashed for a moment, and he stepped to her side to pull open one of the drawers in his set-up. “I have a solution, if you’re willing.” When he turned around again, he was holding a deck of cards. “A few of my neighbors came up with game a little while back, and it’s very simple. As a bonus, it’ll take what happens out of your and my hands completely. Interested?”

Ashley raised an eyebrow. “Curious.”

He smiled again, his charm battering away at any reluctance she might have had. “It’s easy. You draw a card, and whatever number it equals, I cut off that many inches. You draw another card, and if it’s the same color, we cut off that much more. If it’s the other color, we stop. Easy peasy.”

Ashley cursed her fear fetish. It was bad enough to not trust herself when it came to leaving decisions that would alter her appearance to this insanely hot man, but now she was leaving it to a deck of cards? At his insistence? She tried to imagine the domino of events that led to this moment, where her friends goaded her into agreeing to give this man sway over her, and then him telling her to leave herself at the mercy of a random drawing of cards.

“What… What if a card is a higher number than the amount of hair I have left?”

The tight shirt Ken wore did little to hide the movement of his pecs as he dramatically shuffled the cards. “I promise not to go shorter than a heart-breakingly beautiful pixie. And we can stop at any time you want.” He held the deck out to her. “Come on, what do you say? I’ve been looking for an excuse to try this again.”

Taking a deep breath, Ashley reached forward and drew the top card.


Biting her bottom lip, Sloane focused intently on the mirrored image in front of her. With a small clothe draped across her shoulders, half of her long hair had been gathered up atop her head, held in place by an assortments of clips, while the rest of the mist-dampened mass was left free to fall down the back of the chair. Sitting on a small, wheeled stool, Sarah had carefully combed and soaked the golden waves away, leaving a pin-straight curtain to work with when’s he reached for her scissors.

Sloane felt the teeth of the stylist’s comb tease the nape of her neck, and then heard Sarah ask, “Ready?”

Sloane swallowed, bracing for the unknown, and nodded.

The comb slid down through her hair, down past her shoulders, and then just a little bit further. Once it stopped just a few inches later, there was the long, slow sound of metal blades crunching together, followed by a pause, another teasing caress of comb teeth against her nape, and then more soft crunching of scissors through her beautiful hair. It may have been her imagination, but Sloane could have sworn she heard the soft patter of her wet locks striking the floor as Sarah worked, cutting away more and more of her long hair until everything hanging free had been shorn to the desired length.

With her shears between her lips, Sarah paused to let more of Sloane’s long locks loose, letting about half of the mass that had been pinned up and away from her ears and neck fall free before securing the rest once more. This time, golden locks surrounded Sloane’s face, framing her features as they, too, were combed and weighted down with misting spray until they hung straight to her waist. 

The cutting soon began anew at the center of her back, and Sloane found herself licking her lips in eager anticipation as Sarah worked outward, slowly, ever so slowly approaching a point where Sloane would actually be able to see how much of her hair was being shorn away. Little thrills ran down to her toes as she listened to the metal blades coming together, the silky locks trapped between giving desperate, whispered attempts of resistance before succumbing. Soon enough, Sarah wheeled around to Sloane’s right, her brow furrowed in concentration as she combed through the loose locks there. On the last pass through the silky fall, her comb slowed past Salon’s shoulder and eventually stopped just above her breast. The scissors were lifted, and with a quick, decisive snip, Sloane realized she was destined to be wearing her hair shorter than she had since middle-school. 

She watched the severed, foot-long locks slide down against her thigh and then to the floor, and then to the perfectly blunt edges of the remaining tresses. “No more mermaid hair for me,” she whispered, realizing her favorite tease when playing in the bedroom was not going to be possible anymore.

“Nope,” Sarah agreed as she snipped the long locks falling past Sloane’s left breast to the same length. “Not for a while.”

If Sarah had any empathy for Sloane’s minor bit of mourning, she certainly didn’t show it as she stood up and released the rest of the pinned-up locks. She combed them well, and Sloane could not avoid noticing the very deliberate center part she was given, a stark contrast to the side-parting she’d always worn before. 

The same process repeated itself, with Sarah retreating to the starting point and shearing away the unwanted length behind Sloane’s back before moving outward. This time, her technique included taking little chips out of the ends, softening the sharp, blunt cut just a little bit as she moved along. By the time she returned to the front, Sloane had had enough time to adjust to her new destiny as a woman with long hair, but not “really long hair,” and was in the midst of wondering whether she’d still stand out at the bars or at parties and gatherings. She liked the idea of looking more professional and mature, and figured she still had plenty of length for all the same styles she’d worn with her sexy waves before. 

But that thought would need to be amended, she realized, once Sarah started gathering a thick curtain of her golden blonde tresses forward. Again and again, the comb swept Sloane’s silky locks over her eyes and into her face. Then Sarah fingers came into view, pinching them all together, twisting them once, and then, as Sloane held her breath, feeding them to the blades of her scissors at eye level. Sloane’s jaw fell as the crunching shears sawed away at the imprisoned locks, finally coming together one last time with a loud snap as Sloane suddenly found herself with bangs.

Sarah has a satisfied smile as she combed the bangs down, their ends long enough to tease Sloane’s eyelashes, and then busily set about trimming another inch or so away, the blades of her scissors traversing Sloane’s forehead at the level of her eyebrows.

“Oh my god,” Sloane murmured.

“My choice, right?”

Once the shearing of her bangs ended, Sloane risked nodding. She got a better look at herself when Sarah stepped away and moved behind the chair, and although her reflection was a bit of a shock, she didn’t hate it. The new, heavy bangs were the biggest change about her style, possibly relegating her usual side part to being a thing of the past, but they certainly brought out her eyes and accentuated cheekbones she hadn’t realized she had. And the way her hair fell on either side was both familiar and new, with the gradually-returning waves having more life with so much length and weight removed.

As Sloane leaned forward and ran her fingers through her hair, trying to get used to how quickly each stroke ended, she noticed Sarah murmuring to her assistant and accepting a bowl of some mix from him. She set it down next to a straightener, and then nudged Sloane to sit back in her seat. In silence, Sloane watched as the stylist pulled on some plastic gloves, combed Sloane’s still-damp locks back, and then began brushing the mixture into the golden waves. 

Sarah smiled when Sloane’s nervous gaze met the stylist’s. “Don’t worry, it’s nothing crazy,” Sarah assured her. “I think you’ll really enjoy having pin-straight hair for a few months.”


With her eyes closed, Grace savored every gentle tug of Alicia’s comb through the long ponytail the stylist had formed from her wealth of chocolate brown locks. There was a particular rhythm to it, a gentle motion that nearly coaxed Grace to sleep until she felt the champagne flute in her hand become dangerously heavy and almost fell to the floor.

When she did manage to open her eyes, she saw Alicia’s reflection in the mirror pulling her scissors free from her shirt pocket, and realized the stylist hadn’t even been planning on making sure Grace was ready for whatever change was about to come.

Deep down, it gave Grace hope.

She kept expecting Alicia to let the long locks fall free, right up until the moment she felt Alicia’s grip on the base of the ponytail tighten and the soft, cool kiss of the scissors brush against her nape. Then the crunching and the tugging started, and Grace smiled widely — it was happening! It was finally happening!

It seemed to take forever, but slowly, gradually the thick, heavy mass of Grace’s ever-present ponytail began to relent, with soft, silky wisps that had lost their battle against the shears falling forward to tease her ears and neck and cheeks. Bit by bit, a sleek, thick curtain formed on her right side, one that swung well free of touching or caressing her shoulder, shorter than Grace could ever remember her dark hair being by a magnitude of feet. 

In time, the gentle, methodical tugs on her impressive mane began to wane, growing weaker but also coming quicker until, with one final snap of the blades, Grace had a swingy, silky curtain framing the left side of her face as well. 

Mouth still open, she looked at her reflection in silence, even as Alicia stood behind her swinging the massive ponytail she had seized back and forth, letting its hefty weight perform a little dance in the air. “You didn’t really think I could resist a chance to do that, did you?”

Grace covered her mouth and laughed, wriggling in the chair with glee before shaking her head wildly back and forth, feeling her now short hair whip across her nose and cheeks. “I’m so glad you couldn’t! Finally!”

Alicia laughed as she quickly affixed a tight band around the remarkably thick, evenly cut end of the glorious ponytail and set it aside. “Then why didn’t you ask me to just chop it all off?”

Selling back into the chair with a contented sigh, Grace shrugged. “That wasn’t part of the game. But I don’t think I could have, anyway. It’s something I’ve always wanted, but never had the guts to ask for because so many people refused to do it when I was younger.”

Alicia stood behind Grace, fluffing the shortened lengths and brushing them this way and that.  “I know the feeling. I used to get that sometimes, too. Stylists either thought my curls were too pretty to cut or they were to afraid to try. But I think we can consider your cherry popped in that regard, and I don’t think you’ll have any trouble getting stylists to do whatever you want from now on.” She grinned, maybe a little mischievously. “But first, I get to do whatever I want, right?”

Grace licked her lips nervously, but not without some excitement, and nodded.


Ashley tugged the card free, and flipped it over.

Ace of hearts.

With her heart in her throat, she showed it to Ken.

“Starting off big, I see.”

Ashley couldn’t bring herself to say anything, instead sitting in silence as her glossy black hair was gathered away from her face and neck and ears into a heavy ponytail. She felt a panic rising as it was secured at her nape, but calmed a little — though only a little — when a second band was produced and secured closer to the end.

Ken looked at her with a raised eyebrow as he brandished his shears, asking whether she was ready without speaking, as if commiserating with her own frightened muteness. She nodded, and he smiled. He lifted her ponytail so she could see its reflection, so she could see it being hugged by his scissors eleven inches away from the adorable, graceful curls that decorated the ends of her lush mane. The loud rasping was almost unbearable, but she couldn’t look away as her ponytail was reduced from something of significant heft to a barely there, pigtail, maybe seven or so inches in length. 

The shorn locks were dropped with more disregard than she could have imagined, and then Ken’s blades sliced through the band at the nape of her neck, freeing the rest of her remaining mane. Instinctively, Ashley shook her head, letting the locks dance around her shoulders, which is something they did with far greater ease than they would have just a moment or two before.

The resulting cut was ragged and uneven, falling a bit past her collarbones. 

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Ken asked, his tone taking on a parental edge that caused Ashley’s thighs to press together. 

“No, sir,” she answered in a whisper; heat rising in her cheeks when she realized the second word was said aloud. If Ken heard it, he was kind enough to pretend he hadn’t, instead focusing intently on spraying her recently pampered locks with water, wetting them down before securing the majority of it up atop her head, giving him easy access to snip away another inch or so from the ends. 

“So, have you ever had short hair?” He asked as he worked, little clippings of raven locks peppering Ashley’s shoulders and thighs before they continued on their way to the floor. A beautiful, thickly layered style was forming as he let down and snipped away more of her hair, one that seemed to be bringing out the best of her now just-past-shoulder-length waves. 

“No,” Ashley said. She’d have preferred to stay silent and simply shake her head, but she didn’t want to risk screwing up Ken’s work. 

The stylist paused, though, and met her reflection’s gaze. “Just no?” He asked with a bit of a smirk. A really hot, handsome smirk that he must have studied hours of Harrison Ford movies to master.

“No… sir,” she finally said, shifting slightly in the chair.

“That’s amazing. I’m surprised no one has ever suggested that for you.” He was moving to the front now, adding in a few more face-framing layers, and stealing away some of the long locks she used to be able to hide behind, trading their length for barely-there side-swept bangs.

When he stepped back, examine the style in the mirror and from behind, Ashley found herself rather pleased with how voluminous and playful her hair suddenly looked. She’d always considered it pretty, but she had to admit that, when longer, it could sometimes look a little lank and lifeless. But not so at the moment. She found herself smiling at her reflection, and, as a result, at Ken as he stepped around in front of her and brushed her new bangs aside, his fingertips caressing her right cheek as he did.

Silently, he picked up the deck of cards and held them out to her, clearly not providing a chance for her to back out. 

She took another steadying breath, and reached for a card.


“Am I right in thinking you’ve always had straight hair?” Alicia asked. She just finished gathering and clipping up some of Grace’s hair, forming a starkly defined line that circled Grace’s head from temple to temple. 

Grace nodded as Alicia dug through the drawers of one of her cabinets. “Yep.”

“Thought so.” The stylist turned back to say something to her assistant, her right hand brandishing a small machine Grace had never, ever in her wildest dreams imagined would be used on her. 

Alicia caught her looking, and waggled her eyebrows. “Don’t worry, they don’t bite. They just chew. And I’m very good with them.

Grace could barely smother a giggle of disbelief, closing her eyes as her chin was nudged downward and the clippers popped to life. 

“I’m taking it slow, so don’t worry about it being too short. At least not at first.”

Grace’s breath caught in her throat when the clippers first touched her nape and remained stuck there as they moved upward, their tone changing once they entered the thick wealth of her hair. Up and up they went, churning and rumbling as they nibbled and teased her, plowing through her thick hair until Alicia had to pull them away. 

A shockingly heavy cloud of brunette locks tumbled free when Alicia flicked the clippers toward the side of the chair, landing softly on the floor right in Grace’s line of sight. The pile started to grow after Alicia commenced plowing another path up the back of Grace’s head, pulling away just before the rumbling machine crested the curve of Grace’s cranium. Beautiful, wondering chills coursed down Grace’s spine and arms, reaching her fingertips as cloud after cloud of soft  brown locks joined their brethren. Grace started to wonder whether some trick was being played as Alicia worked; there was no way that much hair could have still been on her head after her ponytail had been shorn away.

And yet, that did seem to be the case. Pass after pass added to the pile, and then Alicia revisited previously mown paths to push them higher toward Grace’s crown, removing more and more of her awe-inspiring locks. 

Eventually, Alicia allowed grace to lift her head, letting her focus on how silly her reflection looked with most of the significant locks left on her head haphazard clipped above her forehead and the rest framing her face in a thin, wispy bob just past her chin.

But the pseudo bob wasn’t meant to last, and with a few quick swipes Alicia had clippered away any locks that could have even hoped to hide Grace’s petite, round ears. Grace gasped quietly as her undercut came into full view, turning her head to either side to try to make what was happening to her seem more real as Alicia cleaned the head of her clippers.

It wasn’t working.

Despite that, Alicia soon returned to the task at hand and, once again, nudged Grace to point her chin downward. Again, the clippers attacked her nape, but moving quicker this time and not going as high. The process was repeated a second time, and then a third. When the stylist finally set the clippers aside, seemingly for good, most of the hair that had spent the morning bouncing against Grace’s backside as she walked was gone, the only remnant beings a soft, perfectly blended, velvety fluff highlighting the elegant shape of her skull. In front of each ear,  barely-there wisps of hair had been carved into delicate triangles pointing toward her earlobes, as if to highlight where the best places to nip and nibble.

Alicia blew on Grace’s neck, sending an unexpected bolt right down between Grace’s thighs. Never had her neck been so exposed, never had it been so easily stimulated… Oh god, if the simplest puff of breath could result in a feeling like that, what else was she in for?

Seemingly ignorant to Grace’s reaction, Alicia busied herself removing the clips from the remaining length of Grace’s hair and letting it fall free. She wasted no time in gathering up the silky lengths and shearing them almost in half, creating a rainfall of five- or six-inch locks that tumbled to the floor or into Grace’s lap. 

Grace picked up one of the shorn locks, looking at it in subtle wonder as Alicia so efficiently erased any evidence that Grace might have had bob-length hair at one point, leaving nothing more than four or five inches atop her crown. 

Once Alicia’s clips and cuts came to an end, she reached for a very expensive looking curling iron. “You do have a curler at home, right?”


Ashley flipped the new card over, only realizing her eyes were closed afterward. When she finally opened them, she saw it was the king of hearts.

Ten more inches, gone. With a heavy pout and soft whimper, she turned the card for Ken to see.

“Good girl,” he said, almost patting the top of her head before running his fingers through her hair and then taking the card from her. He never checked to see whether she was ready; never bothered to ask whether this was what she wanted. He simply picked up his shears, gauged the length of her hair as it was at the moment, and then slid the blades into her treasured locks just an inch or two below her right ear. 

She half whimpered and half moaned as a deafening crunched sounded in her ear, and she couldn’t look away as a long, thick, wavy lock slid its way down past her shoulder, breast, and thigh, landing on the floor in a beautifully silky, glossy curl that would soon wind up in a wastebasket. Ken’s shears started to tease her neck as he circled behind her, moving the scissors along to haphazardly chop away the style he had so meticulously just given her. In almost no time, his shears reemerged on her left side. Slipping the last of her long locks into their grasp, his free hand tugged them tight to make snapping his blades through them that much easier. 

Ashley was left to look at her reflection as Ken stepped away for a moment. With the rough cut bob, slightly uneven — maybe on purpose — she looked like a fifth grader who had decided to take matters into her own hands. Her heart was racing, though in the best of ways. Maybe it wasn’t that she had taken matters into her own hands; maybe it was a punishment cut given by a disappointed Dom, tired of seeing her use her gorgeous mane to flirt with other men. 

Her breath started coming quicker and she wriggled in the chair, both terrified of letting herself go and desperate to do so. Good god, if Ken knew what thoughts were going through her head… if he knew how she really felt…

A white flash zipped past her eyes, and she sealed unexpectedly as Ken was suddenly placing a white strip of paper around her suddenly exposed neck, tightening it before he placed a miniature cape around her shoulders. 

“That’s to keep the snippings from getting down your back,” he explained.

Ashley nodded, biting at her bottom lip and cursing her cheeks for becoming so bright red. The strip had nothing to do with clippings or snipping. No way! He was on to her, and this was the closest thing he could find to a collar or a choker…

Okay, so the odds of that being true were pretty much nonexistent. But the idea that it might be was doing things for her. She found herself squirming again, so desperately wishing Ken had used one of those huge salon capes so she could at least maybe seek a little bit of relief while he worked. She’d gotten pretty good at hiding her orgasms when past doms demanded she refrain form cumming. 

“So if you’ve never had short hair, what was the shortest you’ve worn it?” Ken asked as he tilted her head forward. His fingers slipped deftly through the wealth of soft locks at her nape, gathering them between his fingers before letting his shears loose upon the tresses he captured. She had no idea how short he was cutting it all, but she could feel his palm resting against the back of her head as he worked, a silent command to keep her head bowed like a good little sub.

Ashley glanced toward the shorn ends of her hair that swung forward around her face. “This, she said. “This will be the shortest I’ve had it, sir.”

“Well, I think everyone’s going to love it,” he assured her. Her praise kink started to rear its ugly head, and she squirmed a little. “If you’re allowed to keep it,” he added. “Which might not be the case, no matter what the cards say, if you keep moving while I’m cutting.”

The reminder that she wasn’t in charge, and that an even greater shearing may lie in store for her, elicited a soft moan that she hoped her pursed lips muffled. 

After a time, his palm finally relinquished its hold on the back of her head and a curled finger under her chin lifted her gaze toward the mirror again. Settling down on a stool, Ken leaned in close to her left side, meticulously working as his blades and comb teased her ear, slowly and perfectly reducing her once flowing waves to a cheek length bob. 

As if it wasn’t already a matter of fact, Ashley felt the cold certainty that there’d be no more ponytail, no more pigtails, no more braids or updos for a long, long while. Her dream of having a gorgeous fall of silky hair like Grace was, for all matters, just a pipe dream now.

Ken wheeled his stool to her right side, matching the length of her raven locks there to the left side, creating a perfect, center-parted French girl bob. But then he moved in front of her, using his comb to sweep forward a mass of midnight locks and before Ashley could object, his blades slid across her forehead, just above her expressive, elegant eyebrows, baring them to the world as her long bangs melted away and gathered in her lap.

She’d been wrong before. He hadn’t cut her hair into a perfect French bob before — now it was a perfect French bob. Even before he carefully chipped and nipped at their solid form, the new bangs screamed for everyone’s attention to be given to her bright grey eyes. They demanded it! And the cheek-length framing of raven locks did little to let her look away, accentuating the sharp, pixie-like features that she would fully admit were sometimes overwhelmed by her abundant mane.

Before she could even take it all in, from the corner of her eye, she saw the deck of cards being held out to her, a silent command given.


Standing in front of the stylist’s chair, Sloane ran her fingers through her long, silky hair again and again. When she stood straight, her new style’s perfectly blunt ends rested against the beginning swells of her breasts, not even reaching her bra strap in back for the first time in ten or more years. And the thick, heavy bangs left her eyebrows playing peek-a-boo were a completely new experience, as was the fact that her formerly wildly wavy, voluminous locks were now completely stick-straight, in a Taylor Swift-like way, and, from what she could tell, would remain that way for good.

“This is permanent, you said?” She asked.

Behind her, Sarah nodded emphatically enough to make the waves of her own hair dance and swing. “It’s like a perm, but straightened. So as your hair grows, it’ll come in wavy again. And you can always curl it if you want, but if you do that a lot that you may lose the straightness after a while.”

Sloane made a thoughtful sound. The mix of the new hair and old might be a problem, but… that was FutureSloane’s issue to deal with. CurrentSloane was absolutely loving her new look. She couldn’t wait to start trying new styles and ways to wear it.

“This is so completely what I was hoping for!” She squealed as she turned with a bounce. “Like, I wasn’t hoping for anything specific, but just for a change that wouldn’t give me a heart attack. And you nailed it!”

Sarah smiled brightly, her dimples returning. “I’m thrilled that you’re happy with it. And, if you’re ready, I can have Pete take you back to have your make-up done and get dressed. Then you can wait for your friends on the deck for cocktails to finish the day.”

Sloane took another long look at herself in the mirror, loving how the very tip of her ear stuck through her thick locks so cutely. “Sounds perfect.”


Words wouldn’t come. As Grace sat there staring at the end product of all Alicia’s work, she just couldn’t believe she was looking at her own reflection. Whereas at the start of the day she was adorned with a long, flowing cloak of beautiful, princess-like, stick-straight locks that almost hid her completely from behind, she now had nothing more than a fine, velvety pelt that left her neck and ears completely exposed for the first time ever, capped with a riotous mass of big, shiny curls that were barely long enough to tease her eyes.

Again and again she ran her hand up the back of her head, almost purring as she reveled and savored the completely new sensation. She hoped her exultant expression conveyed how much she loved the new look, because words just weren’t coming to her.

“Thank you, so much, for having faith in me,” Alicia said after letting Grace have a long moment. 

“It was very, very well placed.” Grace turned and wrapped Alicia up in a hug, certain that the stylist was taken by surprise but fairly sure she welcomed it. “I love it. I absolutely love it. It looks incredible, and, like you said — it completely frees me up to do whatever I want in the future without everyone saying it would be a mistake. I love that!”

Alicia took Grace hand and smiled. “That’s really the best thing a stylist could hear. Come on now, let’s go get your make-up done and get you back to your friends. I’m sure you’re all dying to see each other’s results.”


Ashley braced herself, and turned the third card over.

Seven of diamonds.

This time, she didn’t hide her squeak of despair. She turned the card to Ken, her brows knitting together in a silent plea for him to disregard it. Her bob was already so short; her beautiful mane already such a small reminder of what she once had.

Ken tsked softly, and picked up his scissors. “Are you going to be a good girl, or chicken out for your friends?”

She hated that phrasing, hated that he clearly was on to her and knew how to get to her. Hated that’s he loved every minute of it, desperately wanting to find a way to release all of the pent-up needs and desires this afternoon had unexpectedly sprung on her. 

He waited until her gaze fell down toward her lap, and then moved behind her. His fingers played through the adorable, silky bob he had so perfectly crafted, and with a soft sigh he said, “It’s a shame we have to get rid of this. It looks so cute on you.”

Then, just like when his hand had rested flat against the back of her head as he cut her long locks into the short bob, his palm rested against the top of her head. The long, soft locks sitting there were helplessly trapped between his fingers and his shears did their work, crunching away at Ashley’s lush mane.

The locks fell heavily all around Ashley, a rainfall of tresses that she had spent years flaunting and caring for. Years spent using as a tool to flirt and seduce with, and now it was all being taken from her because her best friend in the world had a stupid idea and Ashley couldn’t bring herself to ever say no. She sat quietly as Ken harvested lock after lock, letting it all fall in front of her, gathering in such a surprisingly huge pile in lap with nothing but the thin spa robe between it and the incredible wetness it was causing between her thighs. 

Eventually, though, the harvesting ended and his hand stopped caressing the curve of her scalp. Her eyes closed, she whimpered softly as his hand lifted away. But it soon returned, gently caressing the crown of her head before the heel of his hand pushed her to lean to the left. There was a pop and a hum, and she opened her eyes slowly, returning her gaze to her reflection just in time to see him press a set of clippers against her temple and slowly lift them upward. The relatively long locks that remained surrendered quickly, gliding down to join their brethren in her lap as nothing more than a faint fuzz was left behind. Again and again the clippers went to work, carving away her thick, silky locks, removing any hope they had of glistening and shining in the sunlight, of ever being lightened by the Summer sun. The clippers rumbled deliciously as they rounded her cute little ear, baring it to the world without hope of being covered again for the first time in Ashley’s life.

Ken’s hand shifted it weight, bringing Ashley’s head forward as the clippers continued their merciless trek around her head, starting now at her nape and sliding upward, sending bolt of electric energy through every inch of her already edge-ridden body. Again and again the clippers rode the curve where her nape met her head, and again and again she silently pleaded that this trip would be the last one. Her heart raced and her thighs tensed, her tight little ass pressed down hard against the stylist chair as the heat rose in her cheeks.

He was doing this on purpose; she knew it. She’d never told anyone she wasn’t sleeping with about her kinks, but Ken somehow was hitting on every one of them, punishing her for being too weak to refuse her friends, for being too scared to simply refuse to take a card, for being too meek to disobey the fucking handsome as hell stylist reducing her beautiful hair to almost nothing.

On what turned out to be the final pass the clippers took from nape to crown, Ashley bit on her lip and came, clenching her eyes shut tightly as waves of pleasure tore through her despite the complete and utter shame and embarrassment she felt. Again and again her hips rocked as she fought to keep her cries muffled and discrete. Eventually, everything racing inside her did slow again, and though deep and heavy, her breathing returned to a normal pace. 

Cautiously opening her eyes, Ken’s reflection stood behind her own, something of a satisfied expression on his face. Without saying anything, he replaced his hand on her head, tilted it to her right, and pressed the clippers to her scalp again. She sat in embarrassed silence as he continued to work, her fingers picking at the ends of the chair’s arms. Once finished the initial pass, he switched the guard of the clippers and took another pass, followed by one more with another guard after that. Then the sheet around her shoulders was pulled away, and the paper collar removed.

When he was done, after he’d spread some styling wax across each of his palms and played them though what remained on Ashley’s head, he guided her to look straight ahead at her reflection. 

“So?” He asked.

She never — never in a million years — would have asked for all of her beautiful, silky hair to be cropped so short. But even so, despite the fact that there was no discernible parting among the wild, crazy remnants that were holding an inch-long rave atop her head, and despite the fact that her trademarked ear-tucks and shoulder-tosses had been replaced with the barest pelt of black velvet, she had to admit that she was a complete smoke show. Just fucking, insanely hot. Not cute, not adorable, not even beautiful — just absolutely steal-your-boyfriend-or-your-girlfriend smoking hot.  

Her eyes, her cheekbones, her lips, and even her neck… all of it, so unapologetically on display and demanding attention and adoration. She actually found herself wishing she were a Dom, because that could be fun with this look. 

“I never would have picked it, but… it looks really good.”

“Just really good?” He asked. “You sure?” And he stepped next to her, reaching out to palm and slowly caress the back of her shorn head, his fingers slowly moving down to her completely naked nape and then sliding along the side to tease her helplessly vulnerable earlobe.

She gasped, quivering a little as she was forced to bite down on her lip. “Okay, okay… it looks amazing… sir.”

He smiled, but it somehow made her feel even more silly.

“Listen” he said, glancing over his shoulder as he took a card from his pocket and started writing on it. “There are rules here, but I’m not blind. If you’d like to make another appointment, call the number on the front of this card. If you’re looking for something to do some night, call the one on the back, okay?”

Ashley took the card from him, the flush returning to her cheeks as she forced herself to look up at the tall, handsome fellow.  She found herself wondering exactly what he would do with the order Do whatever you want when he was off the clock, and she liked every possibility that came to mind. She smiled. “I will, sir.”

“Come on. Let’s get you to the next stage.”


The Cosmopolitan drink Sloane had been enjoying on the open deck was immediately forgotten the moment Grace appeared. Sloane’s jaw dropped, and she practically jumped out of the seat, her head almost hitting the umbrella set up at the table’s center.

“Grace? No!” She shouted.

Grace laughed, nodding and squealing before doing a bouncy dance on her way toward Sloane. “What do you think?”

The other woman spun as she came close, slinging the collection of bouncy , swirly curls atop her head this way and that when she came to a stop. She swept them away from her face, maybe more a habit from when all of her hair was so long and heavy, because now they weren’t even in her face at all and only fell back into the same exact spot afterward anyway.

“Oh my god!” Sloane cried. “It’s all gone!” She grabbed Grace’s shoulders and spun her around again, still gasping and mouth gaping when she saw the slippered style up close. 

“Yup. Gone for good, most likely! I already can’t imagine having it that long again.”

“It looks great! You’re beautiful! It’s just such a shock!”

“You should talk,” Grace replied, reaching up to tug at the ends of Sloan’s now-straight hair. “It’s like we traded textures.”

“It kind of is,” Sloane realized. “But I think I’m keeping yours for a while.”

“Fair enough. Have you seen Ashley?”

“No, have you?” Sloane asked, excitement pouring into the question. “Do you think she really went through with it and let him do whatever? Did you see her stylist? I think she got the hot guy. She probably wimped out. You know how quiet she gets around guys like that. I’m betting she just asked for a trim.”

Realizing Grace was paying more attention to something over Sloane’s shoulder, Sloane asked, “What?”

“I don’t think she wimped out.”


There were a few benefits for being the last one to arrive to a gathering, and one of them was being able to make an entrance. As soon as Grace spotted her, Ashley paused and struck and pose, twisting to her left and then to her right, looking up at an 10 o’clock angle and then to the other direction. When she turned back to her friends, both had their mouth open, jaws dropped in disbelief which just caused utter delight for Ashley. 

It wasn’t until Ashley was much closer to them both that she realized her own jaw should be fallen open as well, as it turns out that Grace didn’t have her hair pulled back as Ashley thought, but rather had gotten rid of almost all of it. And she looked amazing for it! So completely different and new, and, perhaps as much literally as metaphorically, like a weight had been lifted off of her shoulders. 

An embarrassing amount of squealing and fawning followed, but, eventually when they realized there were in fact other people trying to have cocktail conversations on the deck, Ashley and the others sat down again.

“I mean, okay, I’ll say it,” Ashley began, “we all look amazing.”

“Right?” Sloane agreed. “Can we agree that I do have fantastic ideas now and then?”

“Yeah, but,” Grace began, “how was it that the person with the idea is the only one who still has a ponytail?”

“Maybe Sarah knew I wasn’t meant for short hair,” Sloane replied, slowly performing the the of ear-tuck that only she could. Her hair remained behind her ear perfectly, such a cute and subtly seductive move that Ashley realized was probably years away for her. “But feel how soft it is! Why did you never tell me how good straight hair could feel?”

Grace laughed, then directed her attention to Ashley. “How about you? You were pale as a ghost when we went in. How did your guy convince you to go so short?”

Ashley shrugged. “I guess he figured I was braver than I looked,” she lied. Then, for fun, she reached into her clutch and pulled out the business card he gave her. “Maybe I’ll ask him when we get together.”

Both of her friends’ eyes widened. 

“No! You got his number?” Grace asked. “Really? Go Ashley!”

Sloane raised her glass in salute. “That’s awesome. Not only could you get a boyfriend out of this, but maybe free haircuts, too.”

Ashley laughed with the others, grinning as she reached back to run her hand up the velvety remains of her treasured hair. Yeah, she figured, free haircuts would probably be part of the deal, but she wasn’t’t sure she’d always see them as more of a bonus than a curse.

Still, the idea of his fingers running through what was left of her hair, of his palm caressing and cupping the nape of her neck as he told her what he wanted her to do… Okay, yeah. Maybe it would be worth taking a chance on that.

The End.


Wow… this one got much longer than I expected. Hopefully you enjoyed it, or at least figured out you could skip to your favorite girl’s sections to see what happened to them.

Either way, any thoughts or critiques are more than welcome and appreciated. (I apologize in advance for any typos… I’m terrible at waiting to post once I’ve completed something.) As always, comments help me know what people would like to see more of down the line.

8 responses to “Leaving It to Chance

  1. My heart skips a beat whenever I see an update from klaatu48, because I know it’s going to be an amazing story!

    I love these kind of spontaneous girls makeovers type of stories.

    Don’t worry about people complaining about Sloane’s makeover being not short enough. There are people like me who enjoy a super long to long with a nice bangs chop makeover, even if the final style is not “short” by our standards here.

    Thank you for this amazing story. You are a legend. Keep them coming.

  2. That really makes my day, FA — thank you for the kind words! I like to include the disclaimer at the start just in case everyone winds up on getting trims. I’d hate to get people’s hopes up, you know?

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