The Rose Blooms in June, part 1

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The first time I had the nightmare, it was terrifying.

I’d had a glass of wine or two with some work colleagues when we had gone out for dinner, and maybe something about the food or wine didn’t agree with me, but when I finally got to sleep I found myself having a disturbing dream.

It started off with me spending an evening out with my hairdresser Blake, but then at some point in the dream, it morphed into something else. I was in his barber chair, blood frozen, paralysing me in place. He stood over me in silhouette, holding me still by the hair – and suddenly I could feel his weight on my body, pressing against me. There was nothing I could do. I couldn’t scream or move, just wait for myself to snap out of it.

I woke up the next day in shock, and thought it over as I showered the horrible feeling away. It was just a dream, nothing more. I was a successful business woman – always in control. This was a blip. I was seeing Blake on the weekend, so I must just be anticipating the haircut, I rationalised. There was nothing sexual about our relationship, and I wasn’t even attracted to men. Dreams like this happened to everyone once in a while. I just didn’t expect my sleep paralysis demon to be my hairdresser.

The next night, however, he was back. Early on in the dream I saw him, and there was a sick sense of dread in me as the dream progressed. I knew where it would end up, and a masochistic part of me wanted it to happen again. I flirted with him, trying to move the dream onward.

Everything felt clearer than the last time. Blake responded to my eagerness and whisked me off to his salon and before I knew it, I was sitting in a back room I had never seen before. I heard the sound of a pair of scissors being taken from the stand – and then the lights went out. His silhouette loomed over me, the scissors flashed and hacked off a rough handful of my hair, before the weight pressed me back into the chair, and my legs voluntarily opened to him driving into me repeatedly.

I began to have the humiliating dream each night, and each time it would become more and more complicated. It began to feel like an addiction. I would will myself back in that salon to feel the scissors slicing through my hair, sighing with pleasure as he did – and no matter how it disturbed me in my waking hours.

As Blake became more realistic, so did the rest of the dreamscape. I drank in more details of the back room than before. The chair was a large barbershop chair, with a foot rest that felt distinct beneath my feet, and smooth red leather that responded to my warmth. Blake would draw me back into the chair, and I could feel his hands as they pulled my hair free. The next time I would feel the weight of the cape that he trapped me under, and the next time the solid feeling of his hand pushing my head this way and that as he sawed off delicious amounts of hair from my head.

Each morning I would wake and immediately reach for the reassuring length of my hair, sighing in relief that it was still there. It was a sign that it was all just in my head – and also a sign that he might make his return the next time I found myself in slumber.

Night after night I found myself in that barber chair, brought there by some previously undiscovered sick thoughts or by some supernatural force. I leant towards the latter. I was single, true, and sex dreams were natural – but this was more than that. I hadn’t had sex dreams this intense in a good decade or two. These days, my libido had cooled off considerably – or so I had thought.

One time, he spoke. He had not said a word in previous visitations, only put me into the chair and started cutting. I was waiting in the salon, voluntarily awaiting the ruination of my beautiful hair and the sexual release.

For a moment I had thought he wasn’t coming, but then someone grabbed my shoulder. A thudding heartbeat passed before I turned to face him, and he asked, “Are you ready for your haircut?”

On the morning of my scheduled trim, I woke up from yet another sexual haircut dream with Blake tingling all over. Today I was going to see the real Blake, walk into his salon, and… well, he was a professional. I wouldn’t mention anything, and he need never know that he was giving me forced haircuts and sex every night.

I arrived early, unable to do or think about anything else beforehand from a combination of anxiety and arousal. This had turned into a full-blown obsession. I had worn my power suit to try to get some sense of control over myself. My heart pounded as I gazed around for Blake, somehow to reassure myself that the past week of sexual torment was just a dream. Blake wasn’t in the salon at the moment, and the pretty stylist on reception, who always had a smile for me, took my suit jacket and asked me to wait in the seating area, bringing me some chamomile tea unprompted. I must have looked completely harried.

I gazed out of the window, fixated on every face to see the exact moment Blake would arrive. Would I feel something different when I saw him again? Would he recognise the guilt written all over my face?

“Hello, Rose.”

I gasped as a hand clasped my shoulder and almost let out a very real shriek to see Blake looming over me. In the real world, my lungs didn’t have the air all sucked out of them as in the dreams, when it was impossible for me to scream. For a split second, his eyes had looked menacing… but it had just been my very overactive imagination. I would have to be far more careful than that.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. Are you ready for your haircut?”

I nodded mutely. He had said it exactly as in the dream. Usually he would ask if I was ready for my ‘trim’, and I supposed ‘haircut’ wasn’t inaccurate. It was just a very weird coincidence.

He helped me into one of the silky salon gowns, wrapping it over and tying it securely, before leading me over to the usual chair. I breathed out somewhat in relief. That was already different from the dreams, where he would take me somewhere more private.

“Are you all right today? You seem very tense.”

“It’s nothing,” I lied immediately, but my rigid posture gave me away.

“Perhaps I can help calm you down.” Blake responded, smoothing his hands over my shoulders and massaging gently.

“Oh,” I gave a nervous laugh. Maybe I could tell him part of it. “To tell you the truth, I’ve been having these recurring dreams.”


I closed my eyes as Blake’s fingers worked their magic, drawing my hair over my back and grazing against my neck in what I fantasised was an erotic gesture. Wow, the dreams really must have done a number on me. Was I bi? Why else would I be so turned on by this much younger man touching my hair? “In the dreams, I always end up here in your salon, and you cut my hair off.” I opened my eyes to assess what he thought of that. Had I gone too far?

Blake gave a chuckle. “Well, that’s what tends to happen in a hair salon.”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s a bit more intense than that.”

“Sorry. Maybe there’s something bothering you about the way you’ve been wearing your hair?” He picked up my rich brown locks in his hand as if weighing them. “You’ve been growing it for as long as I’ve known you.”

I bit my lip. Was he right? Something twinged between my legs as he held all that hair in his hand. He could just chop it all off as he had done so many times in the dreams. What was wrong with me? “I’m not sure I’m ready for a big change.”

Blake’s eyes met mine in the mirror. “How about a little change? Instead of a quarter of an inch, I can take off a bit more. It’ll still be a trim, but might satisfy your curiosity and stop those weird dreams.”

What Blake was suggesting sounded quite exciting. I hadn’t had more than a quarter of an inch off my hair for years, and it was now healthy, thick, and waist-length. Perhaps he was right. If it would stop the dreams, it was worth losing a little length. It disturbed me how they affected me, and I just wanted to go back to enjoying my crowning glory, like a normal woman.

Blake drenched my hair through with the spritz bottle and combed it. All of a sudden I felt drunk on my own sense of helplessness as the teeth of the comb slipped through, smoothing the natural waves. There was a comforting amount of resistance as Blake combed through my hair. The flash of a pair of scissors surprised me, for I had not been prepared for them or the difference in sound as they crunched through much more hair than usual, sending a clump of hair into my lap, unexpectedly heavy and long.

My widened eyes must have been obvious to Blake as they took in the three-inch length of hair he had just chopped off. I thought when he said “a bit more” that he had meant half an inch or maybe a whole inch. “Don’t worry, your hair is so long that you’ll barely notice this.”

I had to disagree! Three inches was six months’ worth of growth. I was always trying to grow my hair a bit longer. It was waist-length now, and three inches less would make it a bit below my bra strap. Another dark, heavy lock of hair dropped into my lap, denting into the fine gown. It was then I began to wonder if I really wanted the dreams to stop. Gazing at the three-inch curls in my lap, I felt the rush that came over me in the dreams, but this time it was real.

Was I losing more hair than I bargained for, in addition to my secret fantasy outlet for all my weird hair feelings? Maybe I didn’t want Blake to stop visiting me in my dreams, cropping my hair short, and then fucking me for the pleasure.

I was upset that so much was coming off, thinking about where my hair would fall now, but I could already feel the wetness between my legs, and my swollen clit pressing into it. I shifted my hips as subtly as possible, like I was readjusting my seat, as Blake dropped thick chunks of my hair into my lap. I could only get away with that once or twice, and found myself I wishing that this had been the dream so Blake could fuck this feeling out of me afterwards. But I knew I didn’t want him. He was just a means to an orgasmic end.

“Are you all right?”

Blake’s voice cut through my thoughts. “Oh. Yeah.” I checked in the mirror to see if I was blushing. I was.

He leaned in closer, a hand resting on the side of my neck. “Maybe this isn’t the haircut you want,” he murmured, “but it’s the one I think you need.”

I couldn’t prevent my eyes from flaring as another pulse of arousal went straight to my clit. Had he noticed? I was speechless, but utterly turned on by the idea that he knew he was taking control of my hair and giving me what he thought I needed. I couldn’t help but see he had a bulge in his trousers, uncomfortably close to the arm of the chair.

“To stop those dreams, I mean.”

Scrunch, scrunch, scrunch, snap. A tumble of hair dropped down into my lap, joining a sizeable pile. It was as though he were deliberately aiming for my severed hair to fall on me instead of the floor.

“What if the dreams don’t stop?” I asked, barely able to control my voice.

A knowing grin crossed Blake’s face. “You’re welcome back in my chair as many times as it takes.”

I smiled back at him, out of uneasiness, but also with an unmistakeable lust – not for him, but for what he could do to me. “Let’s hope it’ll only take the once. Not to cheat you out of business, of course. I like my hair long.”

“Not in your dreams, though,” Blake replied, equalling my tone. “I know what it is you really want.”

There was nothing I could say to this. I felt thoroughly dominated by this man who was almost half my age, and I wasn’t even asleep and vulnerable. He had me by the hair I treasured so deeply and yet yearned to be shorn of. He knew it, as well, and his bulge only seemed to get closer. Whatever this brash young man wanted, I kept my hands firmly on my lap.

The remainder of the haircut was in complete silence, which was unusual for us. I was resenting Blake for what he was doing, even though a strange part of me wanted it to happen and was savagely needing him to take more of my length between his scissors. I resisted the urge to try to “adjust my position” again, and my hands remained still in my lap as more clumps of hair tumbled down from the scissors to cover them. These salon gowns revealed far too much… I would rather have the discretion of the cape to conceal a hand stroking my thigh. But it meant that somehow, the hair was even closer – and I felt even more keenly as my glorious length was severed.

The hairdryer roared as he dried the dampness from it, curling the shortened ends under. The difference to me was drastic, especially as he laid the dried sections down carefully into place. The shrinkage meant it looked level with my bra strap. The curls at the ends were thick and blunt, quite healthy and bouncy, but I knew that any stranger looking at me wouldn’t think my hair was even that long any more.

“You’re all done,” he said in a cool professional voice.

I tried to see if he was annoyed or not. Maybe he was just embarrassed. He might have realised I was upset with him, and had expected some different outcome. I stood, sending an avalanche of my beloved hair to the floor. The tension felt thick as he undid the gown ties and slipped it from my shoulders, abandoning me to pay for my haircut as he disappeared into the back room. I could not help but gaze a little wistfully at the litter of my dark hair still piled around the chair, that he hadn’t bothered to sweep up yet.

“You went shorter this time,” the pretty stylist at reception noted as she helped me into my jacket and drew my shortened hair free. “It looks gorgeous on you.”

“Hm,” I responded, distracted and still a bit sore from the loss and Blake’s advances. The compliment was probably just salon policy, because she couldn’t mean what she said. She went behind the till to take my payment, but I could not bring myself to leave my usual generous tip.

“Shall I book you in again, Ms Hargrave?” She was glancing through a calendar on the computer.

“I’m not sure.” I tried to touch the end of my hair in thought, but it wasn’t there. My hand had to travel that much higher to find it. “This was just an experiment. I might have to wait until it grows back.”

The stylist’s face fell. “Are you all right?”

“Just… this week’s been strange,” I admitted, wondering why I was troubling this young stylist with my woes. She probably just wanted to be polite to a client. She wasn’t being paid to listen to the woes of a forty-year-old woman. My eyes were drawn to all the metal she had in her face – she had an eyebrow stud, and several piercings in each ear, one of which was a scaffolding bar across the top of the cartilage. There was no conceivable chance she had meant the question seriously.

“Hey,” she said, touching my arm across the counter, surprising me. “Do you want to go and get a coffee? I can take the rest of the day off as I’m only on the front desk. We can have a little girl talk.”

I smiled, some of my upset melting away. Maybe I had judged her too harshly. “Okay, that sounds nice.”

We skipped the coffee shop nearby, since all the seating was taken up. Instead, June, as she told me her name was, let me up into her flat a few streets away for something stronger than coffee.

I dropped down onto her sofa, and my hands lifted to touch my poor hair, to apologise for the mutilation. June’s flat was furnished very modern, with big windows and soft grey walls and furniture. June came over with two gin and tonics. As I sipped it, I realised it was made quite strong, but I didn’t care.

“So why did you really have three inches cut off if you didn’t want it?” She asked, kicking off her shoes and folding her legs under her on the sofa next to me.

I sighed. There was a part of me that felt like I could trust this young woman. Maybe it was because she was very attractive – a slim athletic build, with dyed silver hair that hung in long spiralling waves today. It was styled slightly at odds with her punkish ripped grey jeans, plaid shirt tied around her waist, and black band t-shirt. She was everything I wasn’t, but maybe I needed someone like that to open up to. My friends were all too… normal. “To tell you the truth, I’ve been having strange dreams about Blake. He turns up, brings me to the salon, and just chops off my hair without asking. And then,” I grimaced, “he fucks me.”

It was the most private thing I’d ever admitted to anyone, but June didn’t seem surprised, beyond an eyebrow raise. “Oh! Do you like him?”

“No, not even the slightest amount. I only like women, so he’s not remotely on my radar. That’s why it troubled me so much.”

The comment was off-hand to me, but it filled the room with silence. I bit my lip, worrying I’d scared June off or that she was about to ask me to leave. She was much younger than me, and her style was “edgy”, or whatever the young people called it today, but that didn’t always account for political openness, I’d found.

“I’m sorry,” I began to say, but she shook her head.

“No, I just thought… well, you always looked so straight whenever you came in! I think it was the ‘only-a-quarter-of-an-inch-off’ spiel.”

I laughed to diffuse the tension. I hadn’t realised anyone else had noticed me saying that to Blake and found it embarrassing that she had taken such note of it. “No! So these dreams were especially weird.”

“I bet.”

“Anyway, so I told Blake. Not about the sex dream part, but just about the way he would cut my hair off. He seemed to think I should try a bit more than a trim to see if it stopped the dreams. I thought he meant an inch, but… this is the result.”

“Oh,” June replied. Her hand meandered over and brushed softly over my hair. “I’m sorry, that sounds like he got really scissor-happy with you. That wasn’t very professional.”

I took a long sip of the gin and tonic. “I think even though I didn’t say anything, he realised there was some kind of sexual element to the dream. He made some quite forward comments and kept pushing his crotch closer to the chair than necessary. And he had a hard-on the whole time.”

June’s nose wrinkled. “Oh, that’s a huge nope. Men are disgusting. Come here.”

She held out her arms for a hug. I was vulnerable, so I sank into them, feeling a little awkward as I felt her chest press against me. “Ms Hargrave, if you like, next time you book a haircut, it can be with me. I’ll arrange it privately and on a day Blake isn’t in, so he won’t know. But I’ll understand if you don’t want to go back there.”

Her hand stroked the back of my head. It was so soothing after the day I’d had.

“I think I’d like that. And – you can call me Rose.”

I stayed in her arms for a little longer than necessary, while she ran her fingers through the smoothed blow-dried hair. Being single had made me forget how good it felt to surrender control sometimes, even temporarily. I was beginning to feel the arousal grow again as her hands flowed through effortlessly and released my shorter hair bouncing back at an unfamiliar level.

“Is this all right?” June asked in a whisper.

“Yes,” I responded. Everything she was doing was making me feel much better. “It’s all just so confusing. I normally like having my hair cut. It’s soothing – intimate, if you know what I mean. But this time, it was different. It could have been exciting. It might have been fun, even, to try something different – but he acted like such a creep.”

“You deserve better than that,” June continued in a low voice. “Your confidence can be shaken in a good way after a big change. It’s fun to challenge yourself. But the wrong environment can really ruin an experience like that – one that should be, as you said, intimate.”

“You know my feelings so well,” I murmured. Just hearing her talk about haircuts in that way was exhilarating, like a flame had been struck into existence in me somewhere. I felt like I almost wanted her to shake my confidence. Right now, however, her hands were engaged in caressing my hair, and I was loving the way it made the gin go to my head.

Without thinking, my hand traced along her shoulders and up her neck into the hair at her nape. It was then, as my fingertips brushed over nothing but stubble under that silver satin curtain, that I realised she had a hidden shaved undercut. My breath halted in my throat.

The shock of that, and reminding myself I had only just really met June today, made me lean back, but she caught my eye.

“I’m not objecting,” she murmured, and gently grazed her fingers over the back of my hand.

My heart thumped in my chest. Objecting to me touching her hair, or… something more?

“I’m very much into women too,” she answered for me. “If you wanted to…”

Oh. My executive brain function started to be overtaken by other needs. I blushed at her reading me so easily, and everything about the invitation. I wasn’t the type of woman who fell into unplanned sexual situations, ever. My life was fairly well regimented, and entanglements had not figured for a long time. But… June was different. It was as though she knew the turmoil inside me was unfurling into sensuality, and I trusted her to open me up to that. I needed her to.

I wordlessly turned my hand over, and June swept her fingers along my palm, dissolving my defences with just that one frisson of electric arousal. Within moments she had my lips in a kiss, and her hands teased over my scalp and through my hair. She leaned into me until I lay back on the sofa, and when her hand brushed questioningly over the waistband of my suit trousers, I nodded. “Please,” I moaned.

Her fingers broke open the button, and eased into my underwear, seeking through the unruly pubic hair to my clit and pussy. From the first touch she found me slick with pleasure, and ran her fingers through my wetness before using it to lubricate my clit all over. My hips bucked into her as I thought of all the hair I had lost, how I had had my haircut dreams almost brought to life… and June met my rhythm.

“Your hair looks so good like this, Ms Hargrave,” she whispered to me. “Shorter.”

“Yes,” I agreed, though I would have agreed to anything, with what she was doing to me. Her continuing to call me “Ms Hargrave” even now was giving me feelings I didn’t know I had.

“You’re so beautiful. I wish I could have been the one to cut your hair.”

“Mmmm.” I was struggling to even form a verbal response.

Her hair fell onto my chest, tickling through the blouse I now wished I wasn’t wearing. My hand reached up to stroke her undercut. I wondered how hair, and lack thereof, could feel so divine.

“I love the way you moan. Would you moan for me if I were cutting your hair?”

“Yes,” I managed to breathe out.

“Good girl.”

I hadn’t been called “girl” in at least a decade, but I knew immediately I was into it. Her fingers slipped over my folds and delved into my slit, filling me and teasing an orgasm out as she stroked into my g-spot.

“I hope you dream of me next time you have a haircut dream. I want to be the woman you share your fetish with. I’ll cut all your hair off and then fuck you just like this.”

The word “fetish” shocked me, but I didn’t have time to process it before I came in an explosive orgasm, gasping for air and in more pleasure than I had ever felt before. I was quaking all over with the effort, and she held me closely to her until my heart rate dropped.

Reality started to set in around me and I suddenly felt small and embarrassed. I’d just let a total stranger finger me on her sofa while she told me how she wanted to cut all my hair off.

“Was that okay?” she asked, surprisingly tender. “I got a bit carried away. I was just trying to turn you on.”

I blushed. It had been so easy for her. Her hands had slipped over me like butter. I could only blame the desperation spinsterdom had lowered me to. “Um, yes?” I answered. “So you think I have a fetish for… haircuts?”

“I thought you knew,” June replied, with a trace of apology. “Oh, I’m sorry if that freaked you out. It’s actually quite common. It’s kind of why I became a hairdresser.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, showing off her piercings.

I tried to think about it, but I hadn’t had the chance to wonder why I felt so aroused when Blake had chopped off three inches of my hair. “I guess I never realised when I only had small trims. Well, there was a kind of excitement whenever Blake touched my hair. But nothing like… this.”

“You’ve got it bad,” she smiled mischievously. “It’s so intense with you. But I promise I won’t… I won’t do anything you don’t fully agree to. I won’t just get a pair of scissors out and…”

I kissed her words away, suddenly turned on again by the thought of her with a pair of scissors in her hands.

“Ms Hargrave,” she smiled between the kisses, “what am I going to do with you?”

I looked into June’s green eyes, the heat rising again. “You could get your scissors out and cut my hair.”

June brushed her fingers over my jawline and up to my earlobe. “You should get used to this length first. In a couple of days, if you still want to, I will. But I think you really like your hair and you’re in two minds over changing it. Right now all you can think about is the fetish because it’s new. I don’t want to take advantage of that until you know it’s what you really want.”

I tried not to be disappointed, but I knew she was right. My body was being controlled by passion alone right now. I didn’t even know if I wanted shorter hair or what style. But June actually cared what I felt like afterwards. “I really appreciate you not just treating me the way Blake did.”

“I’ve liked you for a while,” June confessed. “I‘ve only been at the salon for your last four haircuts but I’ve watched you every time, hoping you’d look over at me. I wouldn’t want you to be as sad as you were when we left the salon today.” She coiled a finger into the mussed-up ends of my hair.

“I’ve definitely noticed you were pretty,” I said, biting my lip and trying to enjoy the soft intimacy of her playing with my hair a normal amount. “But I never thought someone like you would be interested in… someone like me.”

June raised an eyebrow at that. “To me you were this hot career milf who would think I was just another trendy youth with silver hair.”

My thumb stroked her lip. “Well, how does it feel knowing you have this hot career milf wrapped around your little finger?”

I reluctantly left June’s flat later, once I remembered an afternoon meeting online that I had almost forgotten about. I was sure I was glowing from the incredible sex June and I had earlier, but no one noticed, or even seemed to see that my hair was three inches shorter! Maybe they simply didn’t think about hair as much as I did.

I tried to keep the word “fetish” out of my mind while I was trying to be professional, but I felt fully consumed by it. My colleagues’ hair was suddenly a source of deeper interest. I had to find some way of turning that part of me off before I started fantasising about my boss having her long bob trimmed.

The first thing I did after the meeting was to strip off naked on the way to the bathroom, grab my body hair trimmer, take off the attachment, and mow off the pubic growth that had impeded June’s hand from my skin earlier. The sound of it eating through the hair hungrily made me instantly wet, and the coarse curls fell into the shower in ugly clumps as my mound was freed and bared to the world. I felt the years of having no love life to mention fall away with the tangled mess.

A haircut fetish… I thought about all the fun I might be able to have with that in the future. I held the buzzing machine against my clit for a moment, imagining what it might be like if a bit of my hair was shaved with them… but I reminded myself of June’s words. She was right. I didn’t want to do anything drastic, or indeed cheat her out of the pleasure of cutting off my hair, as I knew inevitably she would.

Lathering myself up, I brought my razor, a new blade fresh and sharp within, up to the stubble, my hand shaking as I drew the razor through it. I had never shaved myself to the skin there before, but it felt so right. My skin underneath was soft and sensitive, and when I put my clothes back on after I showered away all traces of hair and soap, the way my underwear brushed over my mound was electric. I wondered why I had spent so many years depriving myself of that feeling.

That night, I felt the familiar sensation of being in the dream return. It was curious, but the figure walking towards me was not Blake at all. It was a woman. June.

She was wearing a biker jacket, and her hair was tied up, revealing her shaved undercut. In the dream it was much higher than reality, up over her ears.

“Rose,” was all she had to say, extending her hand. I took it, and together we stepped through a doorway formed out of abstract angles.

We were back in the back room of the salon, where the plush red barber chair waited for me. “I think you know what to do by now,” she murmured.

I lowered myself into the chair, legs shaking, anticipating what she was going to do to me.

The cape weighed my shoulders down like a weighted blanket, pushing me into the chair. I could not move my arms at all. June only smiled at my struggle. “You’re not allowed to move. You’re under my spell.”

I wanted to be under her spell. I wanted her to bring my fetish to life and tease it, use it against me, as I begged for more. “Yes.”

The scissors were in her hands now. The metal flashed as she snapped them in the air and approached me, seizing at the perfect smooth wave at the side of my head and opening the scissor blades around it.

“Moan for me,” she demanded.

I was already aroused, and gave voice to it. “Please.”

“Since you’re under my control, and in my barber chair, I’m going to crop all of your hair brutally short.”

Oh god, the way she said it… “Yes,” I moaned. “I think I’d like that.”

“It doesn’t matter what you think.”

Her grip tightened around my hair, pulling it taut against my scalp. She raised the scissors to the hank, and gnawed through it until all the pressure released, and I was left with a choppy clump of hair a few inches long. Another tress was lifted in the same manner, and she cut away the long, beautiful hair, dropping it to be trampled underfoot. There was nothing I could do, for my body was still frozen in place under the heavy cape. But I felt ready, willing for it.

“I’ve thought about cutting off all of this hair ever since I first saw you. You only said you wanted trims, but I knew deep down what you really desire: to be shorn of all your pretty waves. You crave the lack of control. I know you’ve been waiting for the right person to hold you down and give you a haircut.”

I felt my eyes close and a tingle spread across the back of my head. June seized another handful of my gorgeous hair, yanked my head into position with it, and the scissors made a ragged tearing sound as she worked them through it. In the logic of the dream, the sawing seemed to go on forever. My heart pounded ever louder and I could feel the wetness between my legs flowing out.

“I just love shearing a long-haired woman with an unfulfilled fetish,” she purred, passing her fingers through the side of my head she had been divesting of my beautiful tresses. “You’re so desperate to have it all chopped off. You’ll let me do anything to your hair.”

I would let her do anything. My whole body felt like it belonged to her, responded only to her. My legs opened of their own accord. It must have been part of her spell, but I had needed it to happen.

“Do you want me to fuck you?”

She was already parting the cape, and my clothes, which fell away like dream-silk and left me exposed to her. Her hands trailed over my stomach as the chair reclined. I wished I could writhe in pleasure, but my movements were still forbidden to me. “Yes…”

I fell victim to her ministrations once more, begging for her fingers on my clit again. I was naked and vulnerable and hers, while she still wore her leather biker jacket and torn jeans, all edge against my willing skin.

The dream melted into pleasure, as all dreams must, and stroked my cheek into the softness of my pillow as I awoke, glowing as I thought of June and the reality I was going to live out sometime soon.

The fears I had before about losing the dreams were only partially confirmed to me. I knew I would never dream of Blake again.


[This is my first story on this site! I’ve had it sitting in my notes for a while now and thought I should share. I’ll post the other parts soon if you’d like to read more!]

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