The Ponynipper

Story Categories:

Story Tags:

Views: 4,608 | Likes: +48

The Ponynipper


By Shorngirl


The sherry was delicious, with a finish that tasted of currant with a hint of cinnamon. Lovely. But to be honest, not nearly as lovely as the collection I never tired of admiring. The small room smelled of shampoo and conditioner, and that unmistakable scent that only a goodly length of female hair possessed. In this case, many lengths.

There was just something so incredible about seeing all those ponytails hanging from their individual hooks, none shorter than three feet in length. Each one was as individual as the women I had harvested them from. And, each had a corresponding video in my library, which chronicled their taking.

Some were tearful and some were stoic in their denial of their grief, but there was no mistaking the universal remorse each one felt as I held their pony before them, severed from their head.

Was I evil? No, I wouldn’t carry it that far. Each had received an agreed-upon sum, compensation for their sacrifice. A disappointing fact remained, however, as nearly half realized at the last moment that they were making a mistake. They would offer their apologies as they reneged on the deal. I never attempted to persuade anyone after that and allowed them to escape, their tresses intact.

Recently, however, I came into a large sum of money. When I say it was large, I mean I would never want for anything. The only thing that came to mind as I distributed the inheritance, was how I would soon be able to offer an amount that would be difficult to turn down for my sought-after prizes.

The most I had ever offered a woman was a thousand dollars, which was usually more than ample to separate her from her hair. Now, the amount could be whatever it took.




Have you ever wondered if people do weird things in those storage lockers? Well, let me assure you, the cutting of hair might be the most benign of these activities. An indoor facility had been where I set up for filming and cutting hair. I didn’t require a lot of room, only an electrical outlet and room for a stool.

Lisa, at least that was the name she gave in our internet conversation, was desperate for money. The offer of two thousand dollars for her thigh-length hair was too good to be true. I was pleased to see it was blonde, recently washed, and apparently uncolored.

She raised an eyebrow as I climbed out of my truck, eyeing me carefully before approaching. “Lisa?”

“Yes, hi.” She stammered. “Are you really going to pay me to do this? I don’t want to be ripped off.” She warned, running her fingers through her hair, as if offering it to me, prematurely.

I pulled out two bundles of twenty dollar bills, the undisturbed bands denoting the thousand dollars strapped within each. “You can hold it if you like.” I offered her the cash, but she simply shook her head, the waves of gold warbling around her seductively. I would enjoy the taking of these.

“I trust you.” She sighed, following me into the three-story building and up a convenient elevator. I unlocked the unit, flipped on the light, and invited her inside, before closing and locking the door from the inside. “You’re not going to be putting this up on YouTube, or something are you?” She asked, spying the rather professional-looking camera propped on a tripod in the corner.

“No. This is strictly for my own records. It ensures your safety as well as my own.” I assured her. She accepted the explanation as easily as any of the others had. With that, I started filming, the flashing red light on the device seeming to make Lisa nervous. “Ready?” I asked.

She nodded, a single tear escaping her eye, as she relented. No one ever escaped that last-second rush of regret, and I waited for her to back out of the deal. She never did. I rested the cash on the table in front of her, before lifting the industrial bander from the same. Once banded, the hair was terminally bound, the only escape being the scissors.

Gathering the glorious hair, I cinched the top tightly to the nape of Lisa’s neck, encircling it with the stainless band form, and moved the crimper into place. “You’ll feel a little pulling now, but it shouldn’t hurt.” I assured her, as I closed the levers on the machine, the band pulling tight with a metallic ‘click’, the excess metal falling to the floor.

I couldn’t help but be aroused at this point, because there was no turning back. The pressure in my jeans was palpable as they pulled almost too tightly against my crotch. I admired the shiny metal band, the hair exploding from either end.

“There, now all that’s left is the cutting.” I mused, setting down the crimper, and handed her the money.

She reached back to feel where the band was, but I carefully moved her hand back to her lap and the bundles of cash. “Is it going to be short?” She asked.

“A chin-length bob,” I told her, assuaging her fears that she might be heading for a scalping. The whir of the Wahl clippers caught her off guard for a second, but she soon settled as I raised them to the top of the shiny metal band.

Over the years, I’d become almost efficient at using the clippers for this purpose. I’d learned that I needed to cut a quarter inch up from the band to allow the blades to move through the strands of hair. Then it was simply a lot like whittling. Working my way around the rope of blonde silk, I slowly but assuredly, cut through it. As I neared the last few strands at the middle, I would support the weight of the pony, which could be considerable. Lisa’s ponytail certainly fell into that category.

Lisa giggled childishly, as she reached back to feel her exposed nape. “It’s pretty short.”

As she turned, I couldn’t help but be taken by how good she looked with her foreshortened locks. The tips of the roughly hewn bob fell forward, caressing the corners of her mouth. Holding up my trophy, Lisa reached out but immediately drew back, knowing that her hair now belonged to me. “May I hold it?”

“As long as you give it back.” I eased, handing over the impressive bundle.

She held it up, hefted it, and then handed it back. “I’m not going to miss carrying that around. It’s heavy.” She comforted herself, almost convinced, I think, that the statement was true. Gone was the luxuriously tressed young woman who had answered my post; in her place, a flapper-like cutie, with a fraction of her former prowess.

“You’ll need to have that professionally styled, Lisa. It’s passable, but not finished, by any means.” I eyed the straps of cash in her hands. “You can certainly afford it now.”

“Oh, god, she’s going to kill me.” Lisa sighed.

“Who’s that?”

“My sister. She always said that if I was going to cut my hair, I’d let her do it.” She looked at me, and then at her long hair suspended from my right hand. “She’s a hairdresser.”

“Would she have paid you a thousand dollars?” I asked, amused.

“No. But she’s still going to kill me.” Lisa reached back and toyed with her naked neck a few times before we reached her car.

“Something tells me you like the cut.” I assumed as she deposited the cash into her bag and climbed into a well-used Nissan.

“It’s going to take some getting used to, I think. I’m not sorry I did it if that eases your conscience at all.” She smiled.

“Any guilt I might have felt is eased by what’s sitting in your purse,” I assured her.

All the way home I was almost overcome with the freshness of her scent. The hair was full of it, muted only by the products she might have used. Every once in a while, I would lift the silken strands to my nose, and be nearly overwhelmed by the heady fragrance. It was intoxicating.

I almost hated to leave the pony in and amongst the others in my trophy room. Soon, the room took on that scent, but one I knew would fade with time, as all the others had before it. For now, it was Lisa who dominated me. I would need to see to my needs, and soon.


A Flood of Interest


I wasn’t sure if it was the way the posting was worded, or if rumors had spread about a fortune being offered for severed ponytails. Whatever the cause, I was almost overwhelmed by the response.

Eventually, I had to start turning away any hair that wasn’t over a prescribed length. Thirty-six inches was my minimum, and it seemed to weed out the majority of the takers.

To my dismay and relief, I might add, I began to lose my lust for the trophies. Too much of a good thing is never good, and that was what I was feeling. I eventually pulled the ad. the offers began to wane, I realized that I had been greedy in the gathering of my trophies. The room was utterly stuffed with them, and I began to wonder if I might have to sell them off.

I did sell them; all of them, but one. Hers would never be sold. A few months before, I’d taken the golden ponytail and encased it in a glass case. My greatest prize. It still smelled of her, and I would occasionally remove it and masturbate, remembering the girl it had once been attached to. I could never really explain the draw, or why I was so obsessed with this one girl.

A few years passed, and although I still had a fascination with cutting hair, I never fell back into the pastime of collecting. The room once reserved for the purpose was now an office, the scent of hair long since faded. There were times when I regretted the selling of my precious collection, but those moments faded too with the passage of time.

So, when I received a strange message on my phone, I wondered just who the mysterious person might be. “Are you still buying ponytails?” That was all it said. I was about to say no, that I had given up on the practice, but something told me not to.

“Why, are you selling yours?” I asked in return, my interest momentarily tweaked.

“As a matter of fact, I am.” She returned. Then came the part that I will never forget. “You cut mine off a long time ago, and I was wondering…”

Curious, and hopeful, I asked. “What’s your name?” The chances were minute that it was her, such was the volume of hair I had taken over the years.

“I’m sure you don’t remember me, but my name is Lisa.” There were a few pregnant moments of silence. “You know, long, well, really long, blonde hair?” She queried.

Oh, my God. I thought. It was her. I had to see her, even if it wasn’t to take her hair. “Lisa, with the long blonde hair.” I mused, trying to contain my excitement.

“That’s me. Interested?”

“Yes, of course,” I answered. The idea of having her near me, the owner of those locks that had enslaved me for so long, was too much to resist. Then I realized that I no longer had the storage unit or the equipment. Where was she to go? I tried to rationalize her coming to my home, as I really knew nothing about her. Finally, my lust overcame any reservations I still held. “Things are a bit different now. I’ll have to have you come to my home.”

“Even better.” She replied. “That storage unit was a bit creepy, to be honest.”

I gave her my address, knowing that she would be taken aback by the mansion and the automatic gates at the road. “So, five o’clock today?” I repeated, curious about her insistence on an immediate appointment.

“Yes. I look forward to seeing you again.” She returned, ending the conversation with an emoji. Strange. I eyed the glass case, thinking that there would soon be an addition to the treasured locks. There would be no steel band this time, and I would have to dig out the clippers and check if they even worked anymore.

To my delight, they fired right up. There was something to be said for quality, and these were worth every penny I had paid for them. I set up in the large master bathroom.

When the alert sounded that there was a car at the front gate, I quickly rushed to the portal. “Hello?”

“It’s Lisa.” Was all she said, but it was all I was waiting for. I hit the release on the motorized gate and allowed her in. Peering out the window at the front of the house, I was surprised to see her pull up in a rather expensive-looking sports car.

The doorbell sounded, and my heart was pounding beneath my ribs as I opened the door. “Hello, Lisa. Come in.”

She peered around at the luxurious accommodations in the sizeable foyer. “I figured you for a rich pervert, but never this rich.” She mused. I watched as she passed me, her hair as long and as golden blonde as it had been before. But when the scent of the freshly washed hair hit me, I was very nearly overcome. She hadn’t changed a thing.

“Wealthy, yes, but hardly a pervert. I just had a passion for long hair.” I explained.

“You mean a fetish for cutting long hair?” She surmised.

“If you like.” I relented, not wanting to beat a dead horse. “Are you sure you want to sell this lovely mane of yours? From the car you’re driving you hardly seem like you need the money.”

“I don’t, really. I just… I just enjoyed when you cut it.” She managed.

The look in her eyes that I remembered so clearly may not have been a figment of my imagination. Did she enjoy the cut as much as I had? Not thinking, I allowed her to wander about the downstairs, as I followed. “So, have a little fetish yourself.” I offered, cautiously.

“After I left, last time…” She paused, as if embarrassed to continue.

“Go on.” I insisted.

“After I left, well… I got it cut really short.” Lisa struggled with her words. “I mean, I went to a barbershop and had the guy buzz it all off.”

“Did you, now?” I tried to imagine the lovely blonde in front of me, with her head shorn to a fraction of an inch, and I almost came. The image had never occurred to me in all my dreaming of her, but it was starkly presented now. “How short?”

“Short enough that you couldn’t pinch it between your fingers.” She motioned, tugging on her liberal tresses. “Most everyone thought I’d shaved it, but I hadn’t gone quite that far.”

“As light as your hair is, it probably looked shaved.” I managed, still trying to get a handle on my arousal.

“The barber warned me about that, but I wanted to know what it felt like, you know.” Lisa sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Now, well, it’s time.”

“Time to cut it?” I asked.

“Time to buzz it.” She smiled, cutely. “I figured you could save me the hassle of going to a barber.”

With my heart racing and everything throbbing, I led her to the master bath. The clippers were set on the marble counter, next to a cushioned stool. Without asking, she lifted the machine, testing its weight. “This should do nicely.” She grinned, carefully setting the clippers down.

“This is going to get messy. Do you want me to…”

“Oh, no problem.” And without asking, she began to undress. I was going to suggest a sheet, but as I watched the delectable young body revealed before me, I was happy she interjected. Lisa left nothing to the imagination, even going as far as to slip off her socks.

The scent in which I had been luxuriating for years was suddenly overpowering, and I realized that it was her very being. I wondered if she was as aroused as I was. My questions were answered unequivocally when she laid an available towel over the upholstered seat before sitting.

She smiled, embarrassed, looking down at her neatly trimmed pubic hair and then back at me. “I don’t want to ruin your nice chair.”

Just then, I was ready to forget about the hair and dive into her. Her delectable scent was literally overwhelming me. “You want me to trim this up as well?” I asked, courageously dipping my fingers into her, and realizing just how excited she was.

She moaned, the pleasure of my touch obviously welcomed. “Maybe after.” She managed, her breath short.

“I don’t have any attachments, Lisa.” It was true. I never kept them as they never entered into what I was doing, before. I was ready for her to decline the cut but was pleasantly surprised by her response.

“I don’t want you to use any.” Lisa dipped her head down, as if waiting for the clippers to be deployed.

I very nearly forgot to tie off the ponytail before I began, rummaging in an available drawer and finally coming up with a rubber band. “This will have to do, I’m afraid.”

She only smiled, as I doubled the band three times, securing the hair just below her nape. This would be like no other ponytail I had ever gathered, for it would be harvested at the root.

“Sure?” I asked once again. Wordlessly she dipped her head lower, indicating her desire. I was certain the moan I heard was from Lisa as the clippers whirred to life, but I couldn’t be totally sure. Perhaps it was mutual.

Again, the image of this lovely creature, shorn to the skin presented itself in my mind, and I hesitated for a second before plunging the blades into her hairline, leaving a trail of sandpaper stubble. If people thought she was shaved bald before, there would be no doubt of it now.

I’d never done anything like this before, but now that I was, I wondered why on earth not. This was the most erotic thing I’d ever done, not to mention that this was Lisa, sitting naked before me, willingly allowing me to do this to her, almost begging me to, in fact.

I felt Lisa’s fingers fumbling with the snap on my jeans, eventually opening it and sliding the legs down to my ankles. I felt the cool air against me as she did the same with my underwear. I had laid down another path next to the first, her snow-white scalp glistening with a glow born of passionate heat.

Lisa leaned forward hampering my progress, but I wasn’t about to stop her from surrounding me with her lips, her tongue running along the length of my turgid clitoris. Her moans mingled with my own as I continued stealing her hair, strip by penitent strip.

When at last, her hair fell away from her head, I dropped the clippers carelessly on the floor, dropping with them, our mouths finding the other’s wet and eager to please. She tasted of me, but I hardly cared, because all I wanted to do was to taste her.

When I’d had my fill of her mouth, my hands enveloping her hairless scalp, I desperately sank. Level with her sex, I pulled her forward until I was pressed into her, doing to her what she had done to me moments before.

Lisa’s moans of delight only fueled my desire to please her. In all my life, I never remembered feeling this way. I was completely absorbed, uttering smitten by her, my breath coming in staccato beats, only enough to keep me alive.

Minutes later, the hum of the clippers roused me from my afterglow. I reached down, blindly grasping the base, and flipped the switch; the silence almost overwhelming, suddenly.

“Oh, Lisa. Your hair.” I sighed, the long ponytail spread out beneath us like a carpet of gold. She turned and her tiny head, which now seemed so foreign to me, having only ever seen her with hair.

She ran a hand over the naked skin and sighed. “I’ve missed this feeling.” She managed, her breath still labored from our passionate sex.

“Do you know we never even discussed your compensation?” I realized, propping my head up on my hand.

“I never said I wanted any.” Lisa chortled, slipping sideways so her body pressed hard into mine.

“What do you want?” I asked, grinning.

“I think we both want the same thing.” She kissed me, her tongue pressing past my lips.

“I know what I want.” I grasped her hand and led her into the bedroom. “I’ve never forgotten you, Lisa. Yours was the only ponytail I kept.”

She pressed close with a satisfied sigh, her stubble scalp rubbing against my breasts. I knew I would never again be satisfied with a mere token; not when I had the real thing lying next to me in my bed.

One response to “The Ponynipper

Leave a Reply