JK
I had always known my husband had a hair fetish. He was strong, muscular, and, as ex-Army, kept his head shaved smooth every week, like clockwork. I tolerated his occasional teasing as he’d run his fingers through my mid-back length hair and jokingly offer to “clean it up” or “chop it all off” for me. Sometimes he’d jokingly make scissors with his fingers and grab a lock, pretending to snip it off, and laugh as I’d roll my eyes and glare at him. I’d usually squirm away, laughing and smacking his arm lightly, but secretly hoping he’d drop the idea of me chopping my hair off short.
One night during the pandemic lockdowns, we were bored and wine-drunk as we lounged on the couch and watched a movie. We were two weeks into a lockdown and we weren’t sure how long it would last. A few glasses in, I watched with unbridled interest as my husband stood from the couch and stretched, having long ago discarded his shirt somewhere along the back of the couch. I stared at his big, thick arms, his tight nipples, and the dusting of hair over his chest as he grinned at me.
“I’m going to take a quick shower,” he spoke. “You coming?”
He didn’t have to ask me twice. I scrambled off the couch and followed him into the bathroom, despite the slight dizziness from the glasses of wine and sudden movement. We stepped into the steaming shower and he pulled me back into his chest as he ran his wet fingers through my straight hair.
“Come here, baby,” he murmured into my ear. “Let me wash your hair.”
I sighed, relenting against him. At least this time, his focus on my hair would result in one of those relaxing scalp massages that he knew made me soaked between my thighs. His thick fingers gently rubbed the sweet-smelling shampoo into my hair as his thumbs worked the base of my skull. Maybe it was the wine, but I felt more inhibited than usual. I felt my head loll back against his shoulder and a gentle moan escape my lips as he massaged all around my head, slow and focused. His fingers rubbed behind and around my ears, over the top of my head, along my occipital bone, and through my long, wet hair.
“You like that, don’t you?” He murmured. With my back to his chest and my hips against his pelvis, I could feel that he was enjoying it just as much as I was. “That feels good?”
“Amazing,” I breathed as I gently teased my hips around his rock-hard cock. He reached over, teasing my nipple with his wet, soapy fingers, as electric jolts of pleasure went straight to my clit. I arched my back further into his touch as he gently rubbed my nipple again and again.
“You know what would feel really good?” He whispered as I moaned against his fingers rolling and tickling my nipple. “Let me give you a haircut. Something…” he paused as he gently gathered my hair and pushed it over one shoulder. “Something short. Don’t you want to do something for me that I’ve always wanted?”
The same alarm bells that usually went off when he teased the idea of chopping my hair off began going off at the back of my mind, but they weren’t as loud as they usually were. Whether silenced by the wine or distracted by his fingers relentlessly brushing my sensitive nipple over and over again, I briefly wondered how awful a short haircut could be. It would be easier to manage, for sure. And since we were in lockdown with no idea when it would be lifted, it wasn’t like anyone would see me. I could grow it out enough by the time I got my return-to-office orders from work.
I sighed, part in pleasure and part in relent. “How short?”
I felt him smile against my neck as his fingers inched down toward my aching clit. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Does that mean you actually agree?”
I squirmed against his strong chest as his fingers slowly circled my clit. All I could think about was release and my building orgasm at that point, and how good his thick fingertips felt rubbing my clit into submission.
“Yes,” I finally breathed. “I’ll give you what you always wanted.” I squirmed further into his fingers. “But I really don’t know anything about short haircuts. Like their names or how they look…”
I took a deep breath as two fingers plunged into me while his thumb continued to trail lazy circles over my swollen clit.
“I’ll choose,” he replied simply. “I never thought you’d actually agree, so I’ll have to think about it.” His cock twitched against my hips as I leaned back into him and rubbed a hand over his smooth bald head. “But something really, really short.” His breath was warm against my ear. I wasn’t sure if it was his teasing fingers or my defenses lowered by the wine, but something about the idea of having my hair at his mercy – being chopped off and shorn – sent me over the edge and I spasmed with a powerful orgasm all over his fingers.
A few days and amazing sex later, we hadn’t had any further discussion about the short haircut my husband so desperately wanted for me. I was partially relieved, as I woke up the next morning with a pit in my stomach at what I’d agreed to after wine and plenty of teasing in the shower. To my great relief, he hadn’t mentioned anything since and I assumed it was just his fetish talking as we had sex twice in the shower that night – and that he knew I’d had too much wine to truly agree to something as nerve-wracking as him cutting my beloved hair short.
That evening, though, I wandered up to the master bedroom after shutting down my laptop for the day. My husband was shirtless in the master bathroom, though the door was wide open. I glanced in and blinked at the tools he was neatly arranging on the counter. Shining silver haircutting scissors. A large black Oster clipper with several weird-looking attachments. A small can of hair wax that I had never seen before. Immediately, my heart jumped into my throat.
“Um,” I said, clearing my throat expectantly. “Don’t you just need shaving cream and the razor for your weekly shave?”
My husband smiled at me, the excitement and desire obvious in his eyes. “Yeah, but this is for you,” he replied. “Remember? You promised me you’d do something I’ve been wanting for years.”
I didn’t exactly remember saying the words ‘I promise’, but my heart sank as I realized I should have known better. Of course he wouldn’t forget. “I…I did,” I stammered, my eyes still on the clippers. “But how short are you planning to cut my hair?”
He smiled again and gestured at a chair he’d dragged in from his home office. He had arranged it right in front of the mirror, as if he wanted me to see, to watch, every second of the haircut I was about to receive. “Relax,” he cajoled me. “Let me at least give you one of those scalp massages first.”
I realized with a sinking heart this was something I couldn’t exactly back out of. After all, I’d agreed to the short haircut. I nervously twisted a lock of hair around my finger as I sat in the chair and briefly wondered when it would be long enough to twist around my finger again. Maybe he’ll start off slow I tried to convince myself. A bob or something.
He gestured for me to remove my shirt and bra, saying something about not wanting to get hair stuck on them, and then spread a cape around me. The thin material of the cape brushed my nipples as he buttoned it tightly around the back of my neck and I felt a shiver rush straight to my clit. He carefully spread my hair around it like a waterfall before sliding both hands beneath the cape and rubbing my nipples. I felt my head tilt back as the pleasure began to build deep in my clit. He gazed at me in the mirror as he then ran his fingers through my hair over and over again, and I felt my body aching for more as I relaxed.
“You’re going to love having your hair short,” he promised gently. “It’ll be so much easier for you to manage. And besides, who knows when you’ll have to go back to the office? Might as well let me snip it all off.”
My heart pounded in my chest, but I was too distracted all over again from the way he teased my nipples into stiff, hard buds. I was already wet and I got the feeling he knew it would make me much more compliant to whatever haircut he had in mind.
“I don’t know,” I replied nervously. “I haven’t had short hair since I was a kid, and it wasn’t flattering then.”
He smiled as he tied my hair into a low ponytail and picked up the scissors. “I want you with short hair,” he said decisively. “Enjoy how good it’s going to feel without all this.” He lifted up the ponytail and flicked the ends at me, as if teasing the last few moments of long hair. Despite my apprehension, I was soaked between my thighs and could only nod.
He carefully slid the sharp scissors into the base of my ponytail, right above the hair tie, and removed the bulk quickly. I blinked in shock as uneven, roughly-cut locks of hair fell around my face. It was already shorter than I had in years and my idea of a compromising bob was slowly fading.
“I think we should snip you into a nice, short bowl cut,” my husband mused as he ran his fingers through the short, rough-cut hair. “Clipped really short on the back and sides and maybe a little cap on top a few inches above the tops of your ears.”
My mouth fell open. “That doesn’t sound flattering,” I said weakly, but it was too late to turn back now. “Isn’t that a little kid’s haircut?”
My husband smiled as he carefully gathered a top layer of hair beneath a clip and slowly combed through everything around my temples and lower. “You’ll look so cute with a short bowl cut,” he went on. “It’s summertime now anyway and I see how you always struggle with your hair in the humidity. You’ll love having short hair for the summer.”
I sighed and shifted in the chair, closing my eyes briefly as the cape drifted against my sensitive nipples again. As my husband leaned over to pick up the clippers, he paused and knelt around the side of the chair. He gently lifted the cape and suckled one of my nipples into his warm mouth, his tongue teasing and massaging around its hard peak. As I closed my eyes, he gently dipped a finger between my thighs and I could feel his smile.
“You’re wet,” he spoke matter-of-factly. “I think you like this more than you’re letting on.”
I squirmed against his finger as he gently brushed it over my clit and then stood, back to business. He picked up the clippers and placed his strong hand on the back of my head, pushing it forward until my chin touched my chest.
“The clippers feel great,” he told me as he flicked them on. Loud buzzing filled the air as he drew them slowly up the back of my head. All my senses were alight as feelings coursed through me. Fear and humiliation at the short haircut I was about to receive, desire for release, pleasure, submission. Long locks of hair dropped without a fight and curled onto the cape. I desperately wanted to look in the mirror before me, but my husband had my head still firmly to my chest.
The clippers buzzed the back of my head to what I assumed was extremely short stubble, based on the sudden lightness and cool air I could feel along the now-exposed skin. He gently pressed my left ear down as he flicked the clippers over and around. As he reached the base of my temple, I briefly wondered with horror just how high he was clipping my hair. Slowly, the clippers continued their tortuous buzzing path over my temple and a few inches above my eyebrow. Just as I was sure he was going to buzz me all the way over my crown, he shifted and began the same paths shaving around the right side of my head.
The little bit of long hair left twisted under the clip on top of my head suddenly seemed like a treasure. After a few moments, he flicked off the clippers and I raised my head as he rubbed his hands all over the shaved back and sides. His hands felt hot and large against the cleanly-shaven back and sides of my head and, curiously, his gentle rubbing along the ultra-short stubble sent a wave of wetness between my thighs.
“Just making sure it’s all even and I didn’t miss anything,” he smirked at me in the mirror. I blinked at my reflection. To me, it looked like the back and sides had been shaved completely to the skin. My small ears looked extra tiny against the denuded sides of my head.
“You…You shaved me,” I stammered as I reached a hand from beneath the cape and swiped my fingertips along the shining scalp above my ear. “This is going to take forever to grow back out.”
He smiled as his fingertips drifted beneath the cape again and rubbed soothing circles around my clit. “It looks so good,” he replied. “Besides, maybe I want you to keep your hair short.” He shrugged. “Shaving you would be creaming the back and sides of your head and using the straight razor. This was just a 0 blade.”
I arched into his fingers teasing my clit and sighed with frustration as he brought his hand back out and unclipped the hair left on top of my head.
Without another word, he picked up the silver scissors again as he smoothed the hair down and let it fall into its natural part. My clit was still aching, so I let my hand wander between my thighs and gently rub as soft, sure snipping filled my ear. He gently pulled locks of hair between his fingers and snipped away, and I could see right away that the bowl part was indeed going to be ultra-short. As he snipped around my head, working the front into bangs that I’d never had before and snipping the hairs a few inches above the arch of my eyebrows, I realized that this wouldn’t be a flattering haircut no matter what he said. Tiny hairs rained down over my nose and along the cape as he firmly cut the last of the bowl into a stark, even cap of hair atop my head. The notable contrast between the thickness of my hair molded into the ultra-short mushroom-y cap and the bald back and sides made the haircut look extreme, unflattering, and unfeminine.
A tear slid down my cheek as I remembered once again just how long it would take to grow this out into something somewhat acceptable and not nearly as humiliating before going back to the office. My haircut looked incredibly silly and all of my features were on full display, unable to be hidden by the long hair that had previously reached my bra strap.
After a few last snips here and snips there, my husband finally put down the scissors and, as if to add insult to injury, he gently poofed up the cap of hair a bit, bouncing it in his palms to give it some volume, and grinned at me in the mirror.
“This…This looks horrible,” I admitted. Still, my clit was aching and my nipples were rock-hard.
“You hate it, but I love it,” my husband replied as he gently massaged the exposed, bare back of my neck. I leaned back into his touch as my hand drifted up beneath the cape to pinch my nipple. It was true. I hated it and it looked tortuous on me, but I loved it too. The fear and anticipation as the clippers nibbled away my hair, the gentle snip-snip of the scissors as my husband ensured an even bowl, wondering just how short he was going to go…
He quickly unclipped the cape and, as I stood, I looked at myself in the mirror. Tiny ears against a stark bald head, softness around my jaw and chin that I couldn’t hide with my long hair anymore, and a short, unflattering cap of hair resting atop my head that was precisely snipped to a few inches above the tops of my ears. I was still topless, my nipples hard and swollen, and I didn’t even recognize the woman in the mirror.
“I love this haircut on you so much,” my husband breathed, running his hands over the backs and sides of my head. “It is extreme,” he added with a chuckle, as if to add to my torment. He lifted me up, carrying me to our bed, and ran his hands through the soft cap of hair, laughing again as his fingers didn’t even really run through it because it was almost too short to grasp. “How about we keep this haircut on you until you get your return-to-office orders?”
I was about to open my mouth and say no way, absolutely not, that I would need as much time as possible to grow this awful, unflattering short haircut out – but then I felt his warm tongue running over my nipple and his hard cock pressing between my thighs. Suddenly, I couldn’t think anymore. I was vaguely aware I was about to make yet another promise I wouldn’t want to keep, but as he unzipped his jeans and I could feel the head of his cock rubbing against my clit, I didn’t care.
“Fine,” I breathed as he rubbed his hand over my short bowl cut again and again, as if to continue reminding me that it was there, that I hated it, and that it didn’t matter. I didn’t want to think about the weird stares I’d get at the store or in the off-chance we’d be somewhere public during the rest of the lockdown. I didn’t want to think about him beckoning me into the master bathroom after he finished his weekly shave to dutifully clip down any hair that had grown on my head while I squirmed and mourned the idea of growing it out as quickly as I could.
I would let him have this because it was giving me the biggest, hardest orgasms I’d ever had in my life, and I would figure out the rest later.
