The Curse of the Cut

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The Curse of the Cut

 

By Shorngirl

         I stormed out of the small, three-room cottage in a huff. I’d be damned if she was going to pay a hundred dollars for a fortune like that. The nerve of that woman to paint such a dismal picture of my future when I had the world at my fingertips.

         I don’t know what possessed me to take the advice of my secretary. ‘You should go visit this clairvoyant and have her tell your fortune, Vic,’ Emily had suggested. I figured what do I have to lose?

         The fact that the old woman had stolen a lock of her hair in the process only added insult to injury. I went along because she insisted, but now I had a noticeable hank of my waist-length tresses missing. What on earth was I thinking? And, why did she take so much?

         I looked at myself in the mirror, experimenting with ways that I might cover it up, but failing at every attempt. The only answer was to have it cut, but I so hated to do it. I’d certainly end up with a shoulder-length lob at best.

         I had the weekend to think about it and figured I’d make an appointment with my stylist for Monday. I rarely took a day off, and my superiors would certainly understand.

         Sunday afternoon, Emily called, asking about how things went at the fortune teller. I spilled my guts about the whole thing, letting her know that I was furious but certainly not with her.

         “You really shouldn’t have walked out without paying her, Victoria,” Emily warned, as judiciously as she could.

         “Look, Em, she cut a chunk out of my hair, and now I have to get it cut to match. Emily… she told me that I was doomed to a failed life. What on earth does that mean, anyway?”

         “That’s odd. I mean, you’re certainly successful right now. I guess what she told me might have been bullshit too.” Emily supposed.

         “What did she say to you?” I asked, curious.

         “She said that I was in for a considerable change that would improve my standing in life.” Emily boasted.

         “It’s all a load of crap, Emily.” I cursed. “The only thing real that came out of that place was my ruined hair.” I thought for a moment. “Did she take a lock of yours?”

         “Come to think of it, she didn’t,” Emily admitted.

         “You see. I think she was just jealous of me.” I seethed, tugging at the foreshortened hank of blonde hair that swing forward, shorter than the rest.

         “Sorry, that happened. See you tomorrow.” Emily eased.

         “Actually, you won’t. I have an appointment with my hairdresser in the morning, but I may stop by in the afternoon.” I mewled, angry that I was going to lose my signature locks.

         “Well, I bet you look great with shorter hair, boss.” Emily kidded.

         “I certainly hope so. I haven’t had it cut since high school, so…”

         “Then it’s certainly time for a change, I’d say.” Emily tried to make me feel better about it, but my emotions were still too close to the surface.

         “Perhaps. You take it easy, Emily.” I said, clipping the conversation.

         “Good luck tomorrow.” The line clicked off, and I set my phone down, contemplating whether I might actually pull off the look. I guessed I’d find out soon enough.

         The salon was quiet, and I supposed that had a lot to do with the fact that it was Monday morning. I walked in, meeting Sarah’s eyes as she looked up from her station. Sarah had been trimming my hair for years and was shocked to hear what had happened.

         “Okay, Vic. Let me see what I can do.” She escorted me over to the chair and sat down, and for the first time knowing that would be walking out a very different woman.

         “I don’t know what possessed me, honestly,” I explained.

         “We all do crazy things once in a while. Chalk it up to that.” Sarah sighed, casually, as she pulled out the hacked-off piece to assess its length. “Well, I’m not left with a lot of options, here. It’s going to be a shoulder-length cut at best.” Sarah explained. “Or we could always go for it and cut it short.”

         “Sarah, don’t kid around.” Not amused by her lighthearted attitude.

         “I can make the process as short and sweet as you like. I can cut it in stages, or just have at it, and cut it right to where it’s going to be.” Sarah offered.

         “I think I’m for just getting it over with.” I sighed, running my fingers through what remained of my hair.

         Without another word, Sarah swept her floral cape around my neck and prepared to make the cut. The scissors she held were larger than the trimming shears she usually used, longer and heavier in her hand. These were meant for serious cuts, and that was what I was about to receive.

         After combing it all out, Sarah slipped the menacing blades around my hair as I watched mesmerized in the mirror. “The first cut is the most difficult.” I struggled as my eyes teared up, but was determined not to cry, slipping a hand out from under the cape to gracefully sweep them away.

         Seeing this, Sarah hastened her efforts, the scissors sawing a line that would leave my hair only just grazing my shoulders. By the time she reached the other side, the floor around my feet was awash in a pool of silvery blonde strands.

         “There, that’s the hard part done.” Sarah sighed, pushing my hair aside with her foot to avoid stepping on it. The action was both humiliating and strangely erotic, and I swore I felt my nipples tingle, which in turn sent waves of pleasure through my sex.

         “That was weird,” I whispered under my breath, not meaning to be heard.

         “What’s that?” Sarah asked.

         “Oh, nothing. It looks… good.” I managed, slightly shocked by the transformation. I’d gone from long-haired goddess to frumpy professional in the few seconds it had taken Sarah to perform the task.

         “I’m just going to even things up a bit, and feather the ends so they lay better for you,” Sarah explained, as she began shaping the ends with thinning sheers, something that had never been used on my hair before.

         The weird thing was, the tingling in my nipples continued and I was certain they were hard as erasers under my blouse. Looking down, I was expecting to see them protruding through the silky white material. I had always been proud of my D-cup breasts but was mildly relieved to see that any evidence of my arousal was hidden by the blousing of the fabric.

         “There. What do you think?” Sarah asked, tentatively.

         I swung my head from side to side, watching as what was left of my glorious mane swung to and fro, well clear of my caped shoulders. ‘So, it was a bob, then.’ I sulked, inwardly, despite the almost annoying sexual pangs from my nipples and clitoris.

         After paying Sarah and tipping her handsomely, I made my way out of the shop, unable to avoid the mirrors, and staring at the strange woman that was the new me.

         Foregoing the intended trip to the office, I made my way home, determined to take care of the overt sexual arousal that had sprung out of nowhere. Well… not really out of nowhere, and I finally had to admit that it was the haircut that had elicited the unwarranted lust.

         As I quickly slipped out of my leggings, I should not have been surprised to find my pussy sopping wet beneath my ruined panties. I was quick to strip them away and walked through to my bedroom, bottomless and wanton.

         My fingers spread my lips and slid up to find my massively engorged clit, larger than it had ever been, or at least that I could remember. My usually elusive nub was surely the size of a thimble and throbbing as my fingers wrapped around its base. “What the hell is going on?” I muttered under my breath but my need to orgasm eclipsed any concern I had. Desperately wanting more stimulation, my other hand wandered under my blouse, seeking the nipples that were still tingling as furiously as ever. What I found brought everything to a resounding halt.

         “What the fuck!” I screamed, pressing down the urge to continue masturbating. I stood, slightly dizzy still, and tore open my blouse, the buttons scattering across the hardwood floor.

         My once buxom breasts, which were certainly a full D-cup that morning, had shrunk to nothing. I ran closer to the mirror, realizing that I wasn’t flat, exactly. I pouted visibly as I cupped them in my hands, realizing that they could certainly not be more than a small B.

         “What the hell is going on?” I sobbed.

         Strangely though, while my hands explored my new diminutive chest, they couldn’t help but knead the nipples which stood erect and tingling at the apex of the small orbs. They were huge, and as my clit apparently was, much larger than they had been before. I looked down between my legs, almost amused by the small penis-like protuberance that peeked out from its well-stretched hood.

         The fact that I had, long ago, permanently removed my pubic hair only accentuated the fact that things had definitely changed. Still throbbing and in need of attention, it throbbed visibly.

         Finally, unable to stop the inevitable urge that ate away at my resolve, I shrunk back onto the bed and began to allow myself the pleasure that my body so wantonly craved.

         I rubbed and pulled, furiously masturbating and edged ever so close to coming, but finding that I couldn’t get there. That elusive orgasm that played so tantalizingly close to my efforts, was simply unattainable.

         The next few days were a blur, distracted by my inability to relieve the mounting arousal that still coursed through my every nerve ending. Emily was the first to notice how distracted I seemed to be and pulled me aside after a disaster of a meeting.

         “What the heck is going on with you?” Emily asked, concern creasing her youngish-looking face.

         “I’m sorry. I’m… having a problem.” I finally admitted.

         “I’d say. You just about got yourself fired in there.” Emily warned, and something of which I was painfully aware.

         I pulled her into my office and closed the door. “Something really strange is happening to me, Em.” I started to unbutton my blouse and noticed her eyebrows rise in response. “Look at this.” I pulled the stuffing from the bra I was wearing pulling it up to reveal the punky little breasts that now stood pertly on my chest.

         “What the… Did you have a breast reduction or something?” Emily reasoned.

         “No! They just shrunk.” I sobbed. “And, there’s more.”

         “I’m not sure I want to know.” Emily turned, embarrassed by my apparent lack of modesty. I pulled down my panties, revealing the thumb-sized clit which now protruded proudly from my lips. “Jesus, Vic. That’s just weird.”

         “I can’t come.” I spurted, suddenly, unashamed of my lewd admission.

         “Well, we all have our problems.” Emily mused, looking more closely at the distinctly phallus-like knob. Suddenly a puzzled look swept over her. “You’ve been cursed.”

         Pulling myself together, I turned, bewildered. “What are you talking about?”

         “The fortune teller, Vic. She cast a spell or something.” She seemed frightened, suddenly. “You should have paid her, Victoria.” Quickly, Emily turned and left my office, turning to look back at her boss. “You better go see her.”

         “A curse?” I puzzled, out loud. It had all started with the haircut. Maybe the woman knew and that’s why she cut my hair. “Bitch!” I screamed.

         I did my best to muddle through the rest of my day, only managing to screw up a few more things as I did. Tolerance for mistakes was thin in my office, and I had excelled by not making any. Now, I was in serious danger of ruining my career.

         I was doomed to another night of edging; one ruined orgasm after the next, until I was in tears with frustration. The only way I could even get close was to think back on my haircut, imagining Sarah taking it shorter still. Even as I pictured my stylist pulling her clippers from the drawer, an evil smirk on her face, I was thrown back from the precipice I so desperately wanted to fall over.

         Claiming I was ill, I pleaded with my boss to allow me to take the rest of the week off. He begrudgingly agreed, saying that whatever was bothering me, I had better get it sorted, and quickly.

         Wednesday morning, I hurried down to the small community I had visited that weekend. I was fearful of what the old woman might do, but with cash in my purse, I had every intention of paying her.

         I saw her look out through the curtains as I approached, and she had the front door open before I set foot on her walk.

         “Don’t you come back here, tail between your legs.” The woman scolded, stopping me in my tracks.

         “I have your money,” I urged, pulling the wad of twenties from my purse and holding them up in my fingers, still pruned from my exhaustive attempts to come. The woman frowned but stood aside and allowed me to enter.

         Once inside, she closed the door, locking it with a sickening click. She walked up to me, wresting the bills from my fingers as I stood dumbfounded. “Perhaps I can do something for you.”

         “Please.” I very nearly fell to my knees.

         “You smell of sex, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” She sighed as she sat, pulling up to the very table where this had all begun. “Sit.”

         “Thank you.” I mewled.

         “A little late for that, I think.” She looked me in the eye, my desperation surely written across my face. I realized that she held the same set of manicure scissors she had used before, and I dreaded what she must be thinking. To my surprise, she set them down.

         “Please. I’m sorry for everything. Can you just put things back the way they were? Please.” I gulped, choking back my anguish as she stared.

         “Back? There is no back, girl. There is only forward, and the fate you have chosen for yourself.” She scowled. “You brought this upon yourself, but I already knew you would. Why, as soon as you sat down, I knew I would be taking your hair.”

         “I’ll do whatever you want me to, I promise. Please, just make it stop.” I begged.

         “It will stop. This I swear to you, but only after it is gone.” The woman eschewed.

         “After what is gone?” I asked, fearful that I knew the answer.

         The old woman reached out and fingered the tips of my hair, which hung forward to partially hide my face. “Why, all of this, girl.”

         Shocked, but comprehending her meaning, I slowly stood. “I understand.”

         “I wonder if you do? When you have rid yourself of your vanity, you will reach the summit you have sought. But know this, girl; there is no going back.”

         I suddenly found myself outside, as though I had never entered in the first place. Checking my purse, I saw that the money was gone. I hadn’t imagined it.

         After another night of failed orgasms, I finally gave in. I would take the old woman at her word. I couldn’t possibly go back to Sarah, as much as she might enjoy doing this to me. No, it would have to be somewhere I wasn’t known. This was going to be humiliating enough without the prying eyes of people I was acquainted with.

         I settled on a barbershop that was conveniently located a few blocks from my condo. As I climbed from my car, it was all I could do to catch my breath. “This is crazy, Victoria,” I said, almost too loudly, walking the few steps from the curb to the door. The telltale barber pole spun tauntingly above my head as I pressed through the door.

         “Can I help you, Miss?” An older man called out from the other side of the room, startling me out of my fear-induced trance.

         “Um, I’m going to need a haircut.” I managed, moving closer to where he sat, perched in a large swivel chair.

         “You’ve got the wrong place, hon. This is a barbershop.” He insisted.

         “I’m pretty sure I know where I am. I want it cut off, short… all of it.” I spluttered.

         “Well, as long as you don’t want anything fancy, I can probably give you what you need.” The man stood, folding his newspaper and tossing it into an available chair. “Climb in.”

         It was a strange sensation, sliding back into the red leather, the chrome armrests cold against my bare arms. As the barber wrapped my neck with a strip of what must have been crepe paper, I held up my hair for him. The pinstriped cape followed, and instantly, the gnawing sensations of arousal began.

         Once caped, I allowed my hair to fall, a shadow of its former glory, but undoubtedly long for a place such as that. “It’s all got to go.” I sighed, remembering what the old woman said.

         “You sure about this, honey? I’m pretty sure I can give you something… professional. It would be short, but…”

         “No.” I shook my head, exasperated. He followed my eyes to the row of clippers that hung along the bottom of the shelf.

         “Okay.” He shrugged, lifting the smallest set. I wanted him to use the large ones, at least the lust that was building in my loins did. “These are edging clippers. They’ll take it right down.” He insisted, flipping the switch. The hum of the machine grew louder as he brought them to the top of my forehead, resting them against the skin, so the vibration tickled against my skull.

         I said nothing to stop him, so he moved his arm back, dragging the blades across the top of my head. I watched in the mirror as the pale whiteness of my scalp came into view; a one-inch strip of baldness that spelled the end of my hair. At the same time, I felt the tingling in my nipples and I swore I felt them pulling up tighter still. Surely my breasts were small enough to suit to old woman’s rage.

         Another strip of my hair fell away, and the barber smiled at what he must have seen in my face. He knew. He knew I was getting off on what he was doing to me. “Enjoying this, are you, honey?” He asked, not really expecting an answer.

         All I managed was a strangled moan, as the throbbing in my clit intensified, my panties seemingly stretching around it. All I wanted was to reach into my underwear and come. She said I could, I remembered. She said it would end when I was bald.

         The entire crown of my head shone white in the muted light of the old barbershop, the long hair hanging around it a perverted mockery of male pattern baldness.

         “Maybe I should leave it like this, huh?” The barber chortled, running his fingers over the freshly denuded skin. His touch sent waves of pleasure through my throbbing sex, and it was all I could do to maintain my composure. “No? Okay. One bald baby coming up.”

         Without hesitation, he started at the side, quickly reducing all that remained to barely perceptible stubble. I decided to close my eyes. It was the only way I could stop myself from coming, something I was sure I could manage now; the old woman true to her word.

         The humming had stopped, and the overpowering vibrations on my skull still echoed in the bone, so thinly covered by skin. I wondered if I had indeed, come, and I struggled to remember.

         “You can open your eyes now, sugar.” The old man insisted, slipping the cape from around my neck.

         With my eyes still shut, I raised my fingers to my scalp, allowing them to explore the virgin skin. It was close but wasn’t smooth and I was certain it needed to be. Working up the courage to speak, I uttered words I never thought I would ever allow. “Can you shave it, please?” I asked, calmly.

         “Well, it’s as close as nevermind, but I can certainly give it a once over with the razor, if that’s what you really want.” The man chuckled.

         I finally raised my head, opening my eyes as I did. In the mirror, a ghostly white orb replaced what had once been my best feature. It was stark, and unforgiving, the contours of my skull plainly visible. Ears that had once been hidden, now stood out from the sides; a couple of clamshells glued there for comic relief.

         The whine of a machine filled the room, and a moment later, a warm lather was being spread over my scalp. For the moment at least, the barren ball was hidden. If I had imagined what a razor might feel like as it scaped across my scalp, it wasn’t this. It had started all over again, the tingling, the throbbing, and I swore I felt my nipples grate against my ribs as I breathed.

         I was going to come, and nothing I could do was going to stop it from happening. I looked down between my legs, only to see the red and white stripes of the cape, certain I might burst right out of the pants I was wearing, the pressure against my clitoris was so intense.

         It was growing harder, and I was feeling the satiny fabric of my panties rubbing over the length of it. I moaned loudly, as a shudder coursed through me and I begged myself not to let it happen, not there, not in front of him. But, as the last of the foam was cleaned away, there was simply no way.

         He stood back as I screamed, my bald head thrown back, and my hips thrusting toward the ceiling. Wave after wave of the most intense pleasure I had ever experienced ran up and down my body relentlessly.

         I had no idea how long I had put on this display, but when I finally came to, the old guy was leaning against the other chair, shaking his head. I saw him slip his phone into his pocket, stealthily. “There was no way I wasn’t going to film that. Well, no one would believe me if I didn’t.”

         I wondered just how long he had been recording, and I felt as though I should object. The thing was, I didn’t have the energy. Besides, the notion of this being immortalized seemed to rest more easily in this newfound perversity that was my world, all of a sudden.

         The egg that was my head now, glistened with my own sweat as I regarded it in the large mirror. He’d done a good job, and the lights reflecting in it gave evidence of that. My hand reflexively went to it, feeling the glassy smooth surface for the first time.

         “That’s as bald as I can get it, hon. Hope it’s good enough for you.” He smirked.

         “It’s fine.” I managed, pulling a twenty-dollar bill from my pocket.

         He held up his hands, shaking his head. “That’s alright. And anytime you want me to…. shave it for you, well….it’s on the house.”

         For an instant, what he suggested sounded ridiculous. As his offer sunk in, however, I considered it an open invitation. “Maybe.” Was all I said as I slipped out and onto the street.

         I was almost afraid to go home. I was certainly afraid to look. So, I drove around town, displaying my freshly shaven head to anyone that cared to look. I seemed to turn plenty of heads, that’s for certain.

         It was getting dark, and I knew I couldn’t things off any longer. I closed the door, and with my pent-up arousal finally sated I was in no hurry to take in the final result of the curse. It was no mystery what was waiting for me once I got naked. It was seeing it for the first time that scared me.

         I turned off the lights in my bedroom, and slowly stripped out of my clothes. The material of my blouse rubbed unfettered across my nipples as it fell away from my arms. I wouldn’t go there, not yet. The slacks and panties were next, and I could feel the dampened fabric of the wispy underwear catch on what must have been my clit.

         I slowly ran my hand up my torso, hissing a breath in when they met my nipples. Not the slightest swell of breasts had impeded them, only the undulation of each rib as my fingers caressed my chest. I wasn’t as shocked as I thought I might be, because I knew this was what awaited me.

         Another deep breath and I allowed my hand to run down, over my navel and to my hairless mound. When my fingers were stopped from their normal path into my sex, I suppose I shouldn’t have been surprised. Protruding from my mons was what could only be described as a penis.

         I tentatively wrapped my hand around it, its soft smooth surface pliable and limp. I pulled slightly against it, feeling the skin slide along the shaft, and it was surprisingly nice. As my fingers slowly ran down the shaft I felt more. “Oh, surely not.” I sighed, as my hand wrapped around two sensitive orbs tucked tightly against the base.

         I’d had enough tactile exploration, and it was time I took in what had happened. Without fanfare, I switched on the light.

8 responses to “The Curse of the Cut

  1. Wow. Exciting, magical, and unpredictable. Does it end here, or do you have a sequel planned? Will the female lead ever recover her former body, or is this her new body from now on? Anyways, delightful story. 😀

  2. Well, that’s quite a bizarre coincidence. Making it extra strange, I don’t even know where the inspiration for mine came from. There usually is something specific, that triggers me to write one, but I have no idea what made me write Klaus. Just really really strange.

    Anyway, as always, very interesting story.

  3. Thank you for all your kind comments. This one was fun to write as it was pure fantasy, and delved into areas that tweak a part of me that I rarely discuss. I’ve never given any serious thought to the level of dysphoria I sometimes feel as I am entirely comfortable in my body, physically. Anyone who has read my work, especially my real life experiences, must know that I do harbor an inner ‘tomboy’. Anyway, this was just fun. Thanks again for your encouragement, and for those that are interested, there is a part two in the works.
    Claire

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