Part 1: The Teasy Teaser

.kapoor.cuts). He smiled, but his eyes kept drifting to that bun.She returned with two tall glasses, condensation already beading. “Mom said you’re some celebrity hairstylist now. 200k followers and all.”“Something like that.” He took the glass, their fingers brushing. Static. “Mostly home visits for people who don’t want salon drama.”Aanya leaned against the counter, sipping. “So… you just cut hair? Or do you do the whole… thing?”Rohan tilted his head. “The whole thing?”She shrugged, but her eyes flicked to his kit. “You know. The videos people post. The extreme ones.”He opened the bag slowly, revealing wireless matte-black clippers, Japanese shears, and—tucked in a velvet slot—the star of his private collection: a gleaming, straight-edge razor with a mother-of-pearl handle. Vintage. Razor-sharp. Never used on a client… yet.Aanya’s breath hitched visibly. Her nipples tightened under the thin white hoodie. She tried to play it cool, but her gaze lingered on the razor like it was magnetized.“Want to see what I’ve been working on?” Rohan asked casually, pulling out his iPad. “New content dropped yesterday on my private Telegram channel.”She nodded a little too quickly.They moved to the massive sectional facing the sea. Rohan cast his iPad to the 85-inch OLED TV. The video started—4K, slow-motion, cinematic. A long-haired Russian model in a black cape, nervous smile. The barber (Rohan’s friend from Dubai) asked if she was sure. She nodded. No guard. The clippers hummed to life. A thick white stripe appeared down the center of her head as foot-long platinum strands cascaded onto the cape.Aanya’s legs pressed together. Her breathing had gone shallow. She folded her arms under her breasts, clearly trying to hide how hard her nipples had become.Rohan watched her more than the screen. “You okay?”“Shut up and let me watch,” she whispered, voice husky.The video progressed. Safety razor. Scraping sounds amplified in surround sound. The model’s head slowly turned satin-smooth under warm lather and steady strokes. Aanya’s hand unconsciously drifted to the back of her own neck, fingers tracing the hairline where her bun met skin.When the video ended, she was flushed, pupils blown wide. She stood up abruptly. “I… need to change. College clothes are gross.”Fifteen minutes later she returned wearing a soft baby-pink satin slip dress that barely reached mid-thigh, thin straps sliding off one shoulder. Her hair was still in that massive bun, but a few more strands had escaped, curling against her collarbones.She sat closer this time—right next to him on the sofa.“Got any more?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.Rohan queued the next video. This one was slower, more intimate. A girl with waist-length brown hair on a bed, boyfriend brushing it tenderly. The camera lingered on every stroke.Rohan lifted his hand and rested it lightly on Aanya’s bun. She didn’t flinch. Instead, she leaned into the touch, eyes glued to the screen.His fingers found the pins. One by one he pulled them out. The bun unraveled like a waterfall—thick, glossy, endless black hair tumbling down her back, over the sofa, pooling on the floor like liquid silk. It smelled like coconut oil and her vanilla shampoo. Rohan’s cock throbbed painfully against his jeans.He started combing through it with his fingers exactly like the guy on screen—slow, reverent, from roots to tips. Aanya’s eyes fluttered shut. A tiny moan escaped her lips.On the TV, the boyfriend picked up clippers.Rohan mirrored every movement in real time—fingers mimicking the upward buzz against Aanya’s temple, then the nape, then the crown. She was trembling now, thighs clenched, breathing ragged. Every time his fingertips grazed her scalp through the thick strands, she shivered like she was being actually clipped.She was soaking. He could smell it.When the on-screen girl’s head was half-shaved, Aanya turned to him, eyes glassy with lust. Her hand slid boldly over the massive bulge in his jeans. “Fuck the video,” she breathed.Clothes came off in a frenzy. He pushed the satin dress up, found her bare and dripping, and sank into her in one smooth thrust. They fucked right there on the sofa—hard, desperate, her endless black hair wrapped around his fist like reins while he pounded into her. She came twice, screaming into his shoulder, nails digging into his back.Afterward they lay tangled, breathing hard, her hair covering both of them like a blanket.Rohan traced a finger along her jaw. “So… ready to be my client now?”Aanya sat up slowly, hair cascading around her like a dark halo. She looked at him with those big brown eyes—half shy, half wicked.She walked to his kit, picked up the straight-edge razor and the can of premium shaving cream, and placed them on the coffee table.“I don’t do half-measures, Rohan,” she said, voice low and steady. “No clippers. No scissors. Just this.” She tapped the razor. “Make it slow. Make it teasing. Part 1… The Teasy Teaser.”She turned, giving him a perfect view of her bare back and the river of hair that ended just above her ass.“Mom won’t be home for hours,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder with a smile that promised sin. “So… are you going to give me what I want, Mr. Celebrity Hairstylist?”Rohan’s cock twitched again, already hardening at the thought of that first scrape of cold steel against her virgin scalp.