A month flew by, and D/s relationship between Master Ethan and his beautiful sub, Ivy, transformed into a deeper and emotional bond.
A few days after the stipulated month when they decided to continue their relationship, Ivy was down with the terrible flu. Sickness overtook her body, rendering her helpless. But sometimes, blessings come in disguise. Throughout the tenacious long month of her illness, the consistent care of Master Ethan left her speechless.
Her master was more of a lover who cared so deeply for her that she could not fathom.
“What did I tell you about coming downstairs?” the firm voice started Ivy as she quickly whirled around.
Donning a dark charcoal dress shirt and slacks, Master Ethan stood across the kitchen aisle with his arms crossed over his broadcast chest. The man enthralled her in every way possible.
Setting the wooden spoon aside, she hurried over to stand before him. “I am well recovered now,” she assured him. “In fact, I feel amazing.”
He nodded slowly, acknowledging her recovery. A measured smile appeared at the corner of his mouth while his hands closed around her nape, giving a playful yank at her newly grown length of hair. “Perhaps, you are feeling a little too amazing, aren’t you, sub?”
A bold flush of color returned to her cheeks as she dropped herself to knee before her master’s feet. Knelt with her knees spread apart, hands clapped behind, and head bowed—she whispered breathily, “I am sorry, Master.”
He gently patted her head, struggling the rather short glossy chestnut hair. Two months ago, when he chopped off her long mane into a feminine bowl cut—Ivy was surprised and thrilled. Despite the overbearing change, she accepted the way he wanted her to look.
And right now, her hair has a shaggy growth. The tresses grow quite rapidly—a familiar trait she’d inherited from her father.
“Stand up, Ivy,” he ordered in a soft voice.
Large palms cupped and weighed her breasts, gently dragging her into a submissive headspace. Ivy gently leaned into him, begging for more of his touch. She was aching to serve him.
“Greedy little sub,” he chatised playedfully and pinched the nipples hard. “I have half a mind to redden your arse.”
“Please,” she begged wantonly.
A sinister chuckled rumbled out from his throat. “If we are to resume the lifestyle, I’d take it slow, little sub. I would hate to tire you out.”
Disappointment washed over her features, but she kept quiet.
“My regular stylist would be here for my monthly grooming in ten minutes. I expect your presence in the room—upstairs to the left—kneeling beside my chair. You may keep your clothes on.”
Ivy slightly glanced up through her eyeshes. Ethan’s hair, too, was unkempt more than he’d ordinarily allowed.
“Yes, Master.”
“But before that,” he paused and fished out something out of his pocket. A thin strip of leather with a rose gold shine with a small golden ringattached to it. He tied it around her neck, checking the tightness. “I’d collar you later—with a ceremony. But for now, I want you wearing this.”
Ivy gave him a grateful smile, her heart leaping with joy. “Thank you, Master.”
She headed upstairs to the room where she knelt by the big barber chair with footrest and chrome handles and awaited her master. An array of scissors, combs, clippers, and a cape was also arranged on the wooden table. Approximately fifteen minutes later, she heard a shuffle of approaching footsteps and quickly straightened her spine.
Ethan slowly sauntered over to her, with another man on his heels. “Adam, this is my sub, Ivy,” he introduced.
But he didn’t address Ivy at all, which means she was to keep quiet unless told otherwise.
“Your sub is a beauty, Sir,” the man, Adam, said in his thick accent.
Ethan sat himself down on the chair and replied, “I couldn’t agree more. Let’s get on with this now.”
“Yes, Sir,” Adam saidand swiftly flung a cap around Ethan to get him to prepare for the much-needed haircut.
Ivy mutely knelt and watched how Ethan could exert his power and dominance like an extension of his personality, not only over her but over everyone around him.
“Sir, do you want the usual short and neat?” Adam asked.
“Yes, please.” Manners were never lost on him.
The barber picked up the comb and scissors and began snipping the length off the collar and around the ears. Dirty blond snippets rained everywhere on the floor. Once he was satisfied, he picked up the clippers and turned it on.
Ivy could hardly keep her excitement in control. And suddenly she longed for the Clippers and yearned for the helplessness at the mercy of her Master.
Adam held Ethan’s bowed head in one hand and ran the clippers up the nape. Shorn locks keep sliding down the cape, leaving behind a thin pelt of hair at the back.
When the Clippers began shearing the sideburns in front of his ears, Ethan issued a command. “Take the sides a little tighter, please.”
“Of course, Sir,” the barber acquired.
Ivy watched dreamily how the sides of his head were nothing more than tight stubble now—finely cropped and butched. The scene was almost erotic.
Adam, once again, resumed cutting with the scissor-over-comb technique to deal with the lengthier hair on top. The sound of scissors and heavy breathing of Ivy dominated the air in the room.
Soon the hair on top was closely cropped, too, less than an inch. The cut and blow resembled a tight Ivy League. The sides and back were brutally short, but somehow it suited Ethan’s personality.
The haircut was neat, short, crisp and masculine in every sense.
Towards the end of the cutting, Adam ran the thinning Shears over the top. Ivy reminisced how Ethan relentlessly chopped her hair off every week whenever it would grow out. The whirling sound of small clippers dragged her back to the present as she wcatching Adam cleaning the streets around the hairline.
“Is that alright, Sir?” Adam asked.
“It is fine,” Ethan replied curtly.
The barber dutifully brushed off every small hair from his face and neck and then took off the cape. Ethan took a long look at the mirror and nodded at him.
“With your permission, I’d take your leave, Sir.”
Ethan smiled politely. “Thank you, Adam.”
When the sound of closing door echoed and died in the room, Ethan got up and crouched near his beautiful girl kneeing submissively.
“You are covering far too much for my liking,” he stated, and swiftly disrobed her. The sensitive flush ran through her right down to her toes when he rendered her naked.
He enslaved her gaze as a hand closed tightly around her slender nape while the other hand grounded into her clip. Overwhelming heat and the need gnawed at her as she whimpered out.
SMACK!
“Ow!” The smart slap across her pussy jolted her, leaving a trail of gratifying pain in its wake.
“Eyes on me,” he commanded firmly. Heavy-lidded, she compiled.
Ethan watched the play of emotions on her face. Deft fingers kept exploring her wet core as she bit her lips to stop herself from moaning.
“What made you so aroused, my beauty?” he said, continuing his ministries.
“You, Master,” she breathed.
“And?”
“The…the haircut, Master” she blurted out.
“Correct me if I am wrong, you were so scared for the first time. What has changed?”
“I want to please you, Master.”
“Short hair on you pleases me.”
A little shock unnerved her. And then Ivy found herself begging. “Please, cut my hair short, Master.”
He cupped her jaw in his hand. “Do you Realize what you are asking for, Ivy? I intend to take this a little further; I am going to push your limits. Say the safeword if you must.”
A relaxed smile slipped out. “I want your touch, in whatever way possible. Whatever pleases you, Master.”
She pleased him on so many levels that Ethan was heady with need. The bulge in his pants would highly agree with the statement.
“Very well, then.” He dragged a stool closer and settled down. “Kneel comfortable, as you wish.” First, he combined all the chestnut hairs which were around three inches in length.
Knots started forming inside her stomach while the pulse raced against time. Would she survive Under brutal haircut? She had no idea how far he was going to push the limits. But the urge to please him drive her insane. Immediately, desire overlapped fear in her mind.
“Are you ready now?” Master Ethan asked, giving her one last chance to back out if she wishes to. He was now holding the shiny scissors in his hand.
Ivy, instead of vocalizing her consent, leaned in and kissed the hand that held the scissors. Her submission was a holy offering to her Master. With a feral growl, he kissed her—first slow and sedative, and then it turned into something ravishing and hot. When the lips left her, she was panting. Good Lord, the man could kiss.
“Put your head down,” he commanded, and she bowed, her chin to her chest. Grabbing a small chunk of hair at the back, he slipped the shears and started cutting. He used the slowest movement in shearing her closest to the scalp.
Schnick. Schnick. Schnick.
The sound was painfully ringing in her ears, making her suffering from anticipation. The first time, he made her watch as he mercilessly chopped off her long hair. But this time, it was the opposite. She was unaware and at his mercy.
Ethan took the severed hair and slyly dropped on her back; the hairs slide down caressing her naked skin. The goosebumps instantly crowded her flesh.
Schnick. Schnick. Schnick.
Another slow chopping and the locks rained down her shoulders this time, brushing past her exposed breasts.
How could the man barbarously cut her hair off and make her aroused at the same time? It was as if her body and mind were more his than hers.
Angain and again, he sheared her until the back was unevenly cropped, plundered by the scissors.
“Look up. Your eyes on me now, sub,” the deep and smooth voice commanded.
Randomly, he would seize locks of hair between his fingers and snip it close to the scalp; then release it down her exposed skin.
“I love shearing you, my little lamb,” he murmured. “So pleasant and beautiful.” Her pussy clenched in his approval.
Sheaves of soft chestnut hairs almost covered her entire lap and moisture grow hotter and wetter between her legs, making Ivy squirm.
He scolded her softly. “No squirming, little lamb. I haven’t got to the best part yet.” Her clit throbbed frantically when he finally kept the scissors aside and picked up a mean-looking clipper.
Ivy gasped. Oh, Lord. He is going to scalp me!
“I promise you, sub, you are going to enjoy this.” Instead of ordering her to put down her head, he clasped it firmly and bent itdown. The vibrating clippers ran over and over again—from the nape and towards the crown until the hairs were butched.
If the scissor cutting was brutal—the clippers were savage.
He paused for a moment. “Tell me, Ivy, how are you doing?”
Her throat was dry now, so the voice came out hoarse. “I am…I am overwhelmed, Master.”
Ethan played with her breasts for some time, making the shorn hairs ticket her skin and struggling the nearly buzzed nape. Once satisfied that the color returned to her cheeks and the speeding pulse normalized—he picked up the dreaded clippers.
“The last phrase, my beautiful lamb. Can you do this for me?”
“For your pleasure, Master.”
The humming clippers began at the crown, and Ethan slowly dragged it down towards the forehead. Bronze hairs sprinkled down her face like confetti, feathering over her cheeses. After numerous passes, he tilted her head and gently folded her ears to plow down whatever longish hair that was still ing.
Ivy was oblivious to the shearing. But the amount of hair she felt down her exposed skin made her so, so vulnerable. The second round with the same clippers began where Ethan had missed a spot or two but quickly rectified the same.
The menacing whirl of clippers came to a halt. “There’s my beautiful, shorn lamb. Raise your hand now and feel your head,” he ordered. With trembling fingers, she explored her almost-scalped head. She was exhilarated and excited.
“Do you know what cut is this?”
Ivy shook her head mutely, too shocked to speak.
“This, my sub, is called a burn cut. Your hair is cut down to 3/8 of an inch. So, so, short and gorgeous.”
“Thank you, Master.” The sub never forget her manners—be it pleasure or punishment.
“I want you on your hands and knees now, legs spread apart.”
He rose from the stool and walked around to stand behind her. A firm hand applied slight weight on the small of her back, urging her arse to stick out. Once she did, a vibrating wand was held against her engaged nub, eliciting a sharp cry of pleasure out of her.
“Come whenever you want,” he granted.
And within moments waves of ecstasy crashed against her body, she climaxed—feeling like a free bird soaring high and high up the mountains.
Next time she came to her senses, Ivy found herself warmly wrapped in Master Ethan’s arms sitting by the fireplace.
Leave a Reply