thatonesgirlfriend
The handle to the car rattled under Amelie’s pull, she knocked on the window, her other hand holding onto her homemade robot costume for dear life. The driver released the lock and Amelie yanked the door open – “Thanks, it’s not like it’s raining or anything.” The rain was coming down hard – Florence’s handyman costume was also plentifully soaked, toolkit and all – and the pair climbed in with a speed and a clatter. “Todd, to Nothing!” Florence proclaimed.
Todd looked back in the mirror, “to nothing?”
“Club Nothing, well, pre-drinks at Kate’s,” Amelie replied, but he kept his eyes fixed on her.
“Forgot your wig?”
“Shit,” she sighed, but he hit the gas before she managed to take any action, “dick.”
The road was rough, puddles obscuring potholes and rain hiding anything in a range of thirty meters. The three laughed for a while about their terrible costumes, though Amelie was still defending hers with a bit too much pride.
“We’ll need to stop and get you another wig,” Florence suggested just to be shot down by Todd.
It didn’t take long for the idea to materialize – them not wanting to disappoint their friends, and Florence being a bit insane – that a pair of blunt scissors from the fake toolkit on her costume could do a passable job. As she said it aloud – a pause in the interior; Amelie’s insides turned, her ears rang a deafening tone, her neck went cold and her face froze between an expression that would suggest something or nothing, and another that was pictured mid-orgasm. Florence looked at her inquisitively and Amelie returned to the mortal plane, faking the innocence of the grin across her face, she hid the grin and pretended to ponder… “Let’s do it.” Just last night, she’d been watching a video, of sorts.
The wig she left at home had been a straight metallic gray bowl that framed her face nicely, ending right at the chin. Now that she thought it, she wouldn’t mind getting a haircut of that kind, and from the feeling she recognized a few seconds earlier, she might even _enjoy_ it. “Before we get to pres, come on,” Amelie practically begged. Florence picked up her tool, used paper scissors from the average school stationery kit. “Turn away from me. Short like the wig?” A soundless nod gave the reply. “Todd, have you got a comb?” He opened his glovebox and brought out a dirty red comb, loose hairs in it. “It’ll do.”
Florence placed her left hand on Amelie’s hip to stabilize her a bit, then with the right hand measured up the scissors to approximately where she should make the cut, one could almost feel the trembling in Amelie’s dark straight hair. Amelie had been essentially lost in a trailing thought of drool and a suspect pulsing through her vagina; catching the reflection against the dark city street of Florence grinning, delicately holding scissors up to the side of Amelie’s neck, contemplating the length of her future haircut, it drove her wild. She ran the scissors gently through the length, future discards lazily trailing on the metal and dropping back down. Florence took her hand off Amelie’s hip and, after combing a bit, took a pinch of hair between two fingers and brought the scissors to a ready position around the beautiful long strands, right above the fingers, “You sure about this?” Amelie nodded. “I’m gonna need verbal consent.”
“Yes oh my god please just cut it,” the energy among them changed, Amelie was exasperatedly horny, imagining the power that she had just given her friend. Florence clenched the two fingers that would take out the hair, and with a crunch, the back right of Amelie’s hair had been brought to chin length. Florence held up the small bunch of 9 inches of hair for the reflection; Amelie groaned with a satisfaction.
“You know Kate is a stylist right? She could’ve done this a lot better.” But Todd finally understood, “Oh, you’re getting excited there, aren’t you?”
Florence didn’t seem to mind and brought her fingers and the scissors back to Amelie’s scalp – every accidental touch of the metal to her neck sent virtuous shivers to places they didn’t belong. Again and again, every squeeze of the blades and every strand rupturing, every loose clump landing on her lap or on her shoulders, every smile cast between the girls in the reflection, every perfectly sensual feeling in Amelie’s quickly melting mind—
“You’re going to have to move, this is uncomfortable, get to the front seat.” A disagreement with Todd meant Amelie needed to just climb across the transmission into the front seat, in the trek she forgot just how naked she was, up her silvery skirt was a black G-string that did not obstruct her genitals at all.
“Wow, she’s _very_ excited,” Florence noticed a wet patch in the underwear, then pulled off the headrest from the front seat with an undue vigor. She caressed the side of Amelie’s head, now carrying much shorter hair, “what shall I do now?”
“Just chop it all off,” Amelie thought internally, but only said “A little shorter, get it looking good.” She opened the overhead mirror and finally glanced at herself properly, letting out a pleasured noise.
Amelie was now working the left side of her head, having finished mostly to the front on the right. Reaching over the seat – almost as an anchor of length – she readied the scissors again but didn’t pinch any specific amount of hair; just as she began pressing the scissors together, the car hit a big pothole with its front right tire, everyone yelped simultaneously, and then Amelie yelped again when she saw what had happened, the scissors, unguided, had made a vicious cut; she felt good about this fuck-up.
“Kate, I need your help with this,” Florence said upon entering, she hinted a hand towards Amelie who was shyly passing the threshold, her hair on her left side passing in a rugged line slanted slightly downward, right next to her tragus piercing, her scalp bearing messy short hairs. Amelie looked at Florence and nodded, “she wants her hair really short, and I don’t have the necessary technique, or tools; take her.”
Kate smiled, “well, if she wants it.” Whispering, so as to not attract all ten of the other queers and young people in the room, she ordered “over there, on your knees,” and points to a place before an armchair. Kate and Amelie had _interacted_ before, but this dynamic was new to them, yet extremely natural.
She walked over to her equipment and grabbed some essentials, including proper scissors, a usable comb and some clippers. Sitting down on the armchair, she leaned in, “Tell me what you want.”
Amelie whispered, ashamed, “I want you to cut my hair.” Kate frowned, unimpressed. “I want you to cut my hair short.” There was still no response. “Mistress, please cut my hair too short because I want to be publicly humiliated.”
Kate equipped the scissors and ran them gently around Amelie’s jaw, prompting her to look up, “I think you would look good with a really short bowl cut.” The steel was now pressed next to her skull, at the intended length for the cut, across the top inch of her ear, “that much.”
Kate brushed quickly and rather violently over whatever strands remained, then without hesitation pinched and made the first- slow- cut, Amelie heard the individual strands breaking in a devastatingly satisfying crunch, just above her ear canal. She ordered Amelie to turn around, the girl – still on her now-aching knees – obliged.
Outside of her prior realizations, everyone was now in a circle gathered around Amelie, talking across her, sitting or standing, and making her feel like the main event – of course this was coincidence and most everyone was ignoring the transformation. Still, it took everything in her not to melt at that moment. Florence sat just in front of Amelie now, they locked eyes whilst Florence smirked and mouthed “Slut,” which made her victim all the more excited.
Kate continued around and kept slicing at any lengths to bring them to her mark. “Let me bring you a chair actually, as much as you enjoy being on your knees for me.” She left for just a moment which left Amelie to try to run her fingers through her hair, she touched at her chest where her hair used to end, then up her neck with still no feeling, then finally behind the top of her ear she felt something, the strands were too ridiculously short, all the way around in a straight line. “Hey,” Kate swatted her hand away, “I’m not done, don’t make me keep combing your hair down.” Upon seeing her client’s less-than-excited expression, she knelt down and indicated that Amelie should communicate her feelings.
“I think I look absolutely ridiculous right now and you haven’t even shaved the sides down, I’m scared that—” she paused, saliva retreating and shivers through her body, “I’m scared that my life is ruined,” the shivers concentrated in a very central pleasure, shifting the dogs in her mind, “and I want you to keep going, and I love giving you and Florence this power over me, and this is the most pleasure I’ve felt in a very long time— Mistress.”
Kate patted her head, then pointed to the stool, Amelie obliged. e spun her once for fun, then brandished the clippers, turning them on with a jolt and a loud buzz, temporarily silencing the room and turning a lot of eyes to Amelie, who was now acutely aware of the intense attention. Kate held the clippers next to the naked ear for too long, to instil a fear or prove an unspoken point, then oriented them correctly at the bottom of the nape, with a bit of a forceful push – considering there was no guard on. The smooth shaving began, clean strips of hair from the bottom to the lowest point of the intended haircut, about level with the occipital bone. Small loose hairs now peppered the robot costume, which still looked a little ridiculous without the matching color wig, but at least geometrically the straight line was now complimented. Kate swiveled the chair for easy access, providing open unobstructed views of Amelie’s underwear for anyone who was sitting in the formation around her, and she made admittedly little effort to close her legs, too emotionally engulfed in this endeavor. Another strip came off, sending vibrations through her body, and then another, and then the fateful one where she – consciously or not – broke her posture to drive the clippers higher into the line. There was now a huge gap in the bowl, and Kate spun her client again, facing towards her, and – with her free hand – delivered a righteous slap across Amelie’s face. “Now I’ve got more work to do, back to the scissors.” Amelie smiled as the room went quiet.
“Is she okay?” A friend of theirs called out. Florence shot them down immediately, claiming all is well and fun and games.
Kate cut around again, half an inch over the ear, with an inch and a half to go before Amelie’s ridiculously tall forehead ended, the girl was proud of herself, clearly pleased with this adjustment.
Kate now collected all of Amelie’s attached hair in her clenched fist and pulled her up, “Come.” They walked over to the bathroom, Amelie forced to look away from the mirror as the clippers made their final passes to join the correct length. “And a final touch,” Kate said as she came to Amelie’s front and pressed the clippers in to form ridiculously short bangs, an inch from the girl’s hairline. “Run your fingers through it.” Amelie repeated the motion from earlier, her hands shook at the realization of just how close to the skin she’d been shaved: there was nothing left; she reached the tips of the bowl cut and a shock sent through her, an insane pleasure that could only be validated by one thing. “Turn around,” Kate ordered.
Amelie locked on to this new version of herself, “fuck.” Her dark straight hair now formed a ridiculous bowl cut – if you could call it that – that ended just above her ear and trailed into bangs that were cut at a brutal angle and a length that paid her absolutely no compliments. And yet, as she stood there, staring, she couldn’t help but think how good she looked, *how fancy and nouveau and brave and revolutionary and high-society* this was. Kate stood there, still owning her iconic smirk at Amelie’s weakness, and holding in some ridicule at the pathetic thing she was witnessing. Amelie was actually *happy* with the haircut, either unaware or willfully ignoring its truly awful appearance. “Thank you.”
The remainder is no longer suggestive or sexual.
Amelie walked out of the bathroom, Kate holding her hand, into a group of people getting dressed to go to the Club, putting on their loose costume accessories; several turned, many friends of Amelie’s, and made comments rooted in politeness at the “bold choice” of haircut, though their undertones of shock and almost disgust were apparent. Florence joined the two and grabbed Amelie’s other hand, smiling at the victim of her mistake, “Well, that was fun.” Amelie walked proudly and nodded to Florence.
After a long session of dancing at Club Nothing, getting too close to her friends, and making out with Kate for a rather ridiculous amount of time, Amelie walked sober onto the streets – not having needed any alcohol to simulate the intoxication that this haircut gave her, she felt so powerful yet so ridiculous yet… it was indescribable.
