Thanks to Jana for the pics!
Candle light glinted off the little stainless steel folding table sitting cocked to an angle next to the leather play table. A sparkling white silk cloth covered the contents of the medical table. I suspected the cloth of covering an array of sharp glinting metal objects all capable of nipping and cutting. That thought and the flickering candlelight softening the room were a contradiction that felt very reassuring to me in view of what was about to happen.
I stepped up to the leather table and lay down on it face up. Far enough up to allow my 3 foot long tresses flow over and down the top end, almost touching the floor. I began to pace my breathing, slow it some, relieve some of the tension. I only became more excited laying on the cold table in the warm room. The walls flickered in a bathe of candle light and soft music crept into my ears. My body began to relax.
I had laid out the scissors, shining and spotless, in neat rows onto the stainless table and draped a white silk cloth over them, lit candles around the room and set the timer on the music. The young woman had received her instructions the day before and I had every belief she would follow them to the letter.
The letter had stated; “Be in attendance at 9:15. Present your self after bathing and dressing in a pair of white satin panties and a long dress that fits the top half snugly and is flowing from the waist down. Wear your hair loose. Enter the room and take a moment to collect your bearings, then lay on the table face up and wait for Me.”
She did as she was told and I watched her through the peep hole as she slid onto the table. I saw her take in the room, the cold steel table with a satin cover, the candle light and the play table. I watched her settle in, nervously find a place for her hands to rest and finally take a few long slow breaths and begin to relax. I continued to watch long after the music started to softly play. Watched as she relaxed and almost became drowsy, then become fidgety and wondering about my appearance.
Silently I slipped into the room and stood above her head and gazed at the golden red locks cascading over the edge of the table in waves of sensuality, the light dancing on the loose curls. Her eyes were closed and my hand reached out to cautiously touch her hair. Gently, to not disturb her rest. My fingertips barely touched heightened in sensuality.
Photo credit; this and the above photo taken by a friend of Jana's.
She sensed my presence and her eyes involuntarily opened to looked toward me. I smiled at her and she returned her own to me. Bending to kiss her gently on the lips I whispered in her ear reassurances of our trust in each other. Her grin grew, her eyes closed and a sigh of pure bliss engulfed her.
I sat in the chair near her head and continued my ministrations to her flowing red river of hair cascading around my hands now smothered in tendrils of silk. Stroking, sweeping, raking my parted fingers through it I began to tug at her scalp, wrapping my hand firmly within the mass and twisting gentle then harder. One place then another. My face close I inhaled her scent as I parted her hair between my fingers and let it slide through them slowly enjoying the feel of every follicle. I buried my face in handfuls of rumpled red silk and pressed it to myself.
I felt Her playing in my hair, tugging it, smoothing it, combing it with Her fingers, pressing it to Her face and her breath upon my scalp. Every touch brought more shivers to my body, shivers of excitement. I ached in places deep within. I craved for more touch, deeper touch, but kept my eyes closed and my mind focused on the immediate touch She played about my hair. I could feel the weight of it hanging over the edge. I could feel that weight lifted when She did so.
Rising from my chair and turning my attention to the steel table the silk cover was discarded and the scissors exposed to me. Bright, shiny, sharp, several choices. I choose a pair of shears and moved to the foot of the table. Her legs had parted and the voluminous dress was silhouetting her calves, thighs and the sweet warm spot bursting with aroma and nectar higher up. I brushed her exposed ankles with my hand, reached for the hem of the skirt and began cutting. Slowly and methodically I cut up the center of the skirt until the point found her flesh, warm and wet. Nudging the scissors under the edge of the white satin panties I let the sharp blade slide over her sensitive parts and listened to her animalistic groans of surrender and excitement.
I traced up and down her thighs with the point embedded in her flesh leaving red trails of unbroken skin. I edged the tip under her panties again and very slowly cut the crotch over the bottom edge of her pubic bone and lay the heavy cold blade over her pulsating clit. She cried out then in glorious agony and anticipation. Shushing her I moved the scissors further along the dress, up over her quivering belly and between her breasts I slowly cut, the sound of metal blades passing over one another and the steel blade running along her skin. The final cut of the blade released her breasts from their bondage and they spilled out.
I pressed the closed scissors to the side of her face and pulled them along her cheek and under her nose as she inhaled her scent on them. Then across her lips parted now to savor what little flavor she could from the shiny slick blades.
Choosing a new pair of cutting implements, a pair of long nosed hair stylist scissors I lay the closed tools tip against her breast next to the nipple. I dragged it around her nipple pressing it in deeply without cutting the flesh. I pressed the point flattened into the nipple itself and watched her gasp, sputter and writhe around without moving the tortured breast. I teased both of them until I thought she could take no more and might spill her safe word.
Kissing her again, I forced her eyes open to look deeply into mine as reassurance of my bond to her and her to me. I choose another large pair of shears and sat down at her head. I tugged harder this time digging my fists into balls of hair, masses of red hair swarming around my hands. I covered her face with her own hair and smothered her with it. I tied it in knots. I yanked the knots out. I covered my own face and head in her swirling mass of shimmering red locks.
Then I cut.
Huge hunks of red strands fell to the floor. I grabbed a handful and scalped it close to her head. Dropped into the growing pile on my bare feet and legs. I watched her breasts heave as she gasped and whimpered at my every aggressive cut. I watched her nipples harden further and inhaled her growing scent and sensed it seeping and soaking the table under her buttocks. I snipped short pieces of beautiful long red hair from close around her face. I recut places that were still longish. I watched her tears swell and run down her face and into the hair still upon her head soaking what she had left. She sobbed with great gulping motions and I stopped.
The scissors slipped from my hand and clanged to the floor. I bent to her face to kiss her tears, her eyes, her mouth, her scalp and her ruined hair. Gazing at the uneven mess of short curly red tangles I loved her more. I loved her for the trust and her submission. I loved her for her passion and sacrifice.
The next day I was allowed a hand mirror to view my hair, or what was left of it anyway. I was prepared to have the tears return when I looked at myself but they did not. Instead I looked with pride at my shorn locks, my scalp showing in a few places and admired the lovely shape of my head, the beauty in the ruined mess with differing lengths of red curls sticking out this way and that.
I was allowed to keep a single lock of the longest curls tied in a purple ribbon and to hang on my bathroom mirror as a reminder of my vanity and the ability to allow its return someday at my Mistress’s pleasure. The rest was gathered up by myself, placed in a brown paper bag and donated to a wig factory.
