Mind Caviar Fiction

Rachel Kramer Bussel  is a freelance writer living in New York City. Her work has been published at CleanSheets, Jane's Net Sex Guide, Venus or Vixen, and will appear in the forthcoming anthologies Faster Pussycats: True-Life Tales from Lesbian Sex, Strip and Drag Clubs and Starph*cker. Her sexuality column, "The Lusty Lady" is published at Check This Out!

Correspond  with Rachel Kramer Bussel.

The Do
by Rachel Kramer Bussel

I walked into the The Do with much trepidation. What was I doing? Here I was, 28 years old, and cutting off the precious hair I'd been growing my entire life. Well, sure, I'd had little trims here and there, and experimented with wigs and flouncy hairstyles that made my hair look cute, perky and young, but a core part of who I am is tied up in the length of my hair. It's not fair to say that my friends had talked me into it (though I was tempted); they'd merely pushed me in the direction I was leaning. 

"Come on, Darla, you have to get out of this rut, try something new," said Tamara. 

"Yeah, think of all the hot chicks you could pick up with the new you,'" chimed Lisa. "I know just the place." 

I guess so, I thought to myself half-heartedly, fondling my hair as if it were a lover. Why they were so eager to have me chop my tresses, I wasn't sure, but their insistence told me I had to at least consider it. 

Before I walked into the salon, my hair was long, thick, black and full. It kept me warm and gave me cover so I could hide myself and pretend not to see someone I didn't want to talk to. It was my identifying mark, my symbol, my mainstay, and I was about to hand over its destiny to someone I'd never met before. As I pulled open the heavy door, using both hands to counter the fierce wind, I looked up and straight into the eyes of one of the most gorgeous women I'd ever seen. 

She, too, had long hair, but her's was a bold, vibrant red: hair that said, "look at me" and demanded that the listener respond. She also had piercing blue eyes which stared back at me equally boldly. Her clothes were all black, but the strategically placed rips, tears and gaps gave way to pale and delicate skin, and I thought I could see some bright colors imprinted upon her skin as well. I knew then that I'd made the right decision, for my hair, however badly mangled, could grow back, but my quickly beating heart and swelling cunt would never be the same. I reminded myself sternly that I had to stay calm. 

I turned to sit in the waiting area and took off my coat, reaching for a magazine as I prepared to wait until this gorgeous goddess was available for me. But just then she walked over to me, reached for my hand, and said, 

"I'm Ariana, and you can take a seat right over here." 

I looked around to protest that surely she had other customers to wait on, but kept my mouth shut when I saw that we were the only ones in the store. I sat down where she had indicated and shut my eyes, too full of a jumble of emotions to be able to see too clearly anyway. I leaned back and relaxed, ready to put myself into Ariana's hands. I'd spent the last week in serious sleep deprivation and stress over the problem of my hair. What had once been my pride and joy had now become a source of worry and confusion, and I wanted to be light, free, unburdened - hence, the haircut.

"It's good that you have your eyes closed," I heard her say as she startled me out of my reverie. 

Before I had time to ponder her comment or even open my eyes, she had slipped a thin scarf over my eyes and was tying it behind my head. "I don't want you to be able to see what I'm doing - you just have to trust that I'm doing it right," she said seductively as she completed the knot. 

I could smell her perfume, feel her body heat, I was immersed in her aura, so busy feeling the powerful connection that didn't even need a physical touch to solidify it, that I must have missed the first snip. She had lifted some of my long tresses and had begun to cut. I heard the scissors' movements loudly in my ear, and was jolted by that irrevocable noise.

I gasped, wanting to see what she'd done and yet wanting to wait in suspense, knowing that actually viewing the process of being transformed would undo me. It was a delicious sort of tension, the kind that was making me get very, very wet. I squirmed in the seat as my cunt started to get tight and achey, and that's when she leaned forward so that her firm, pert breasts pushed into my back and the side of the scissors pushed coldly against my neck. 

I leaned my head back and rested it against her chest. She blew on my face and pressed the scissors more firmly against me. "Don't move," she said in a whisper that conveyed as much force with its quiet tone as a sternly yelled order. At this point I was so gone I'd have taken anything she wanted to give me - her fingers, her hand, the hairbrush, the hand mirror. I wanted to move, I wanted to jump up and bring her around so she'd be facing me, so she could put those scissors in a place where they'd have some usefulness.

I kept my head and upper body in their proper positions but spread my legs in an aggressive, unmistakable move that clearly showed my dislike of her command and my intent. 

"Oh, is that what you want, bitch? Don't tempt me," she snapped as I felt her pull all my remaining hair back, hard. She kept pulling until she had pulled my head back a good inch or two. "I'll give you what you want, sweetheart, but on my own terms," she said as she let my hair fall back into place. 

I felt her use another scarf to bind me, this time gagging my mouth. I couldn't even protest at this point, because I needed her so badly I'd have submitted to anything she asked. She could shave my head for all I cared, as long as she found a way to fuck me while she did it. 

She started tugging on my hair, separating it, and I realized that she was starting to braid it. Pigtails - how cute! She didn't speak to me as she worked meticulously on the twin braids. I knew they'd probably be perfectly even, delightfully girlish, and would lend a rather junior high student look to my skimpy skirt and baby t-shirt ensemble. 

I heard her twist one ponytail holder into place and go to work on the other side. I sat still, tantalized by her actions. By now a process I'd longed to get over with as soon as possible, or not even begin at all, I now wanted to last forever. 

Then she did something that shocked me so much I almost started laughing. Whap! I felt something hitting my back, flogging me and making me lose any semblance of control I had over my pussy, which just let lose with a torrent of come the moment I felt and heard that first thwack. She continued, and I could definitely feel her flails but they weren't coming at me too hard. That's when I realized that she was using my own very long pigtails to flog me!

This girl is one creative top, I thought to myself. 

I leaned forward in the seat so she could get a better angle, and just then I felt something even harder hit me below my shoulder blade, something very hard indeed. It was the hairbrush she had used to comb out all my knotty hair, and I could feel it's rough bristles as they connected with my skin. She then tugged my t-shirt over my head and I felt her rub it softly against my back, right before her lips left a trail of sweet kisses over that very same area. 

I smiled to myself as I felt this sweet, gentle side of her, but before I had too much of a chance to indulge in such tenderness, she pushed me back again. "Stay like that," she instructed as she pushed my legs wide apart. 

I tilted my head downwards in her direction, even though I couldn't see through her makeshift blindfold. I wanted to at least envision her crouched down below me, and it helped me to pretend that I could see her. I felt something cold at the top of my thigh and then I heard a familiar snip - it was her scissors, and she was using them to cut my little white cotton panties right off me. She lifted the hem of my skirt up and tucked it into the waistband, and then she undid the blindfold. 

"I want you to watch this part," she instructed me, and I looked down at my exposed pussy, and then into the mirror where all its pink wondrous flesh reflected back at me. I could see trickles of wetness seeping out of me, and ached to touch myself but knew she wouldn't stand for it. 

"Do I need to tie those wrists?" she asked mockingly, and I shook my head. I knew she was worth waiting for. 

She somehow managed to spread my legs at an even wider angle, and to keep them that way, she tied my ankles to the bottom of her swivel chair. I strained feebly against the ties, but the truth was I'd have been happy to have her spread me even further - I liked the way my thighs ached as they stretched, the way my cunt opened even wider in this position. 

Ariana ripped the rest of my panties out from under me and tossed them across the room. The she took her middle finger and began playing with my clit, pushing it deep against my pubic bone, then pinching it between her thumb and forefinger, then flicking at it again with her middle finger. I watched while she did this until I couldn't watch any more; I closed my eyes and simply felt - felt the way my clit shrank from her and reached for her at the same time, the way it swelled and expanded, the way each tiny stroke built upon the next, higher and higher until I crashed onto the seat in a massive orgasm. 

This blissful torture continued as she made me come again and again by working my clit. I wanted to tell her I needed a break, at least from that, that I needed her inside me or I'd die on the spot, but I couldn't speak, could only try to communicate my cunt's wishes through my heat, my wetness, my breathing. 

Just when I thought I truly couldn't stand one more touch to my clit, I felt someone steely cold and hard pinch my overworked clit as tight as could be. I screamed, but not in fear - in release. I screamed and screamed, louder and louder as she tightened her weapon around my clit until the two seemed as one, hard metal and soft flesh, fused into some magical new kind of sexual center. I felt my entire body focused on my clit--  no, not only my entire body, my entire life, every moment I'd ever existed was now balanced on that small hub of nerve endings, daring it to tip over, spill, let go. The sensation was so vivid, so intense, so much, that I almost didn't notice as her fingers at last slid into me. 

And she didn't go slowly, that Ariana - first there were none, then there were three insistent fingers working
their way deep inside me. In the state I was in, she accomplished that pretty easily, and then I felt the fourth one slip in as well. I was pushing back as much as I could at first, but then I just slid and melted into her touch when she completed her job by getting her fist firmly wedged inside my dripping pussy. I just lay back and went with it, sobbing all my fear, tension and desire out into the room, the chair, onto her hand. She gave back with just as much vigor, sweating and grunting and daring to look back into my eyes when I gazed down at her. 

I was so overcome that I grabbed her head as she'd grabbed me earlier and shoved it down against my leg. I felt her bite my thigh, and I smiled as I came one final time with a fierce grunt and a stream of come. I lay
back in the chair once again, sweaty, tired, and thoroughly fucked. I hardly noticed as the scissors again went to work, and I might have passed out, because the next thing I knew I was sitting normally in the chair, untied, skirt straightened, shirt on. But when I looked in the mirror it was a new girl, a stranger, who stared back. This girl had short, fluffy hair, the same color, but with a much fresher, younger look to it.

My hair wasn't the only thing changed about me - I looked younger because I looked relaxed, peaceful, happy. I turned around to thank Ariana, if there is a way to really thank someone for giving back your radiance, but she was gone. On the counter in front of me was a note: "thanks for the ride - enjoy your hair." I grabbed the note and hightailed it out of there, too shaken up by the evening's events to puzzle them out in such a highly charged atmosphere. On the way out I grabbed a business card for The Do; they could definitely do me anytime.

Copyright © 2000 Rachel Kramer Bussel. All rights reserved.

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