Clipper Fairy

This is the sequel to “Master Barber.”
Copyright 1994 Cliper2@aol.com. All rights reserved. This story may be downloaded for individual personal use only. But distribution via mailing list, disk or any other form is prohibited without permission of the author under U.S. copyright law and America Online’s Terms of Service agreement.

The Clipper Fairy – ClipEr2

“On your stomach!” The words, spoken in the brusque tones of a Marine sergeant addressing a new recruit were deliberately cartoonish in their domination. But, of course, she complied, looking sideways at him as she clambered onto the bed. She had played, she thought, this game before. To her reward.

He couldn’t read her poker face, though he thought a thin smile passed her lips. Of course, that might just have been his imagination, a flawed translation transforming a maybe into a yes. They had gotten back to his place after a Saturday night movie. A little talk, a little flirting and they moved in here, gently undressing each other, taking time to caress the curves of the other’s shoulders as shirts fell, hips as pants dropped. Slowly, tenderly they explored each other, standing bedside in the dark, their arousal a controlled smoldering fanned by each soft stroke.

His right index finger started by tracing the outline of her left ear top, then slowly finding its way to the soft spot along the hairline behind her ear, pausing then continuing, inevitably to the fuzzy nape, stroking, the tiniest pressure upon the soft skin and hair. Moving ever so slowly up over the hairline, then back into the downy soft at the base of her neck. Pausing, then meandering back up. And down. Again. After sensuous seconds, his finger moved on, downward. She held still, enjoying the attention.

His finger traversed the ridge of her shoulder, turning south before reaching her left arm, circling her left breast. The back of his hand brushed her attentive nipple, then his finger circled again for another pass. Her breathing was shallow, though controlled. Her eyes closed tightly, then opened wide staring, unblinking, into his watery blues.

Meanwhile her right hand, following her index finger, had chosen the temple beside his left eye as its starting line before sliding down to encircle his lips. But it paused there just briefly before tracing the peaks of his left shoulder then swung down over the bumps of his ribs, the pressure harder now.

Tantalizingly, her finger kept moving south. He drew a breath, without being noticed, he hoped, in anticipation of it reaching the finish line. But, as usual, she was playful, her hand veering off-line from the direction of the sac at the base of his erect penis, her finger tracing a line along his true waist and down the curve of his left hip, leaving him dangling, desperately straining to remain true to the control they played at maintaining.

Right then, he thought, was the time for his brutish command. He’d planned it to be a contrast, a jolt, and their actions played perfectly to the moment. So perfectly he had almost improvised something softer. But no, the shock, the swift shift from cuddly comrade to cocksure commander set the evening’s tone just fine.

As he pulled back the spread and the blanket she clambered into the middle of the bed, lying down. “NO!” he said sternly. “On all fours.” She turned to her right to shoot him a look, something between a question and a plea. And when he didn’t answer, she rose up on her hands and knees, facing the headboard. He stood there, motionless, admiring the soft curve in the small of her flowing back, the way her head, arched back, finished the undulating line initiated by the tight roundness of her pert buns. She waited, her breathing barely perceptible now.

He stepped beside the bed and sent a playful slap across those buns. No response. A few weeks earlier they had started playing around, spanking each other and he had been surprised at how aroused she became, how she had maneuvered so that only he was hitting her bottom. How her compliance grew. How she had mounted him while he urged her with a laugh and slap on the behind. And how he had felt her thrall, breakers of arousal washing over her, satisfying her in surprisingly short order.

Now she posed waiting for another slap. And he obliged. Spanking one cheek then backhanding the other. Her head fell, chin to her chest and her breathing increased. A few more light-hearted whaps and her chest began to heave. He climbed on the bed behind her, brushing his hardness over her buns as he moved to kiss her nape, then put his hands on the muscles atop her shoulders to gently force her flat on the bed.

“Hands spread, grab the sheets,” he cackled, commanding another game they had played recently where she laid face down, her arms spread-eagled, her hands tied to the bed only by his command. She had been rewarded that night when he brought her to a soft, shuddering crescendo many minutes later without ever entering her. The possibility of an encore forced a smile to her face.

Now, pressing against her, his breath warm on her fluffy nape, he began kneading her shoulders with both hands, firmly, deeply. She sighed and pressed her head into the left pillow on the bed. His hands concentrated there for minutes, then began loosening the muscles on either side of her spine, working slowly south. She relaxed, accepting the pleasure of his touch silently, the way earlier she had accepted the sting of his hand.

Once he had kneaded every inch from her hips to her neck, bestowing occasional kisses with his touch, he began running his fingertips gently over her contours. From the neck, down the spine to her soft bottom. Pausing, lingering, then softly heading back up, his tongue following the trace of his finger on her skin. She shuddered at this, and he could smell a wetness in her.

He let his finger wander atop her right shoulder, along her side, then into the hollow underneath her armpit to just where her breast emerged while his tongue flicked slowly, gently at her right ear. For effect, he quietly blew away the hair just creeping over her ear.

Then he moved his finger along her side, sliding down to nuzzle her neck, his lips caressing her fluffy nape, his tongue offering a short hello. Aroused since this began, he resisted the urge to enter her soft, now moist loins and let his tongue trek along the left side of her neck, his right finger pursuing a gentle, slow path down her back to her right cheek. A gentle, muffled moan escaped from the pillow.

Balancing his weight on his right knee between her legs, his right hand stroked the hair on the back of her head as his tongue now moved to the base of her neck. Then slowly down. He paused to shift his weight, moving his right knee outside hers, his left between her legs. His heart raced now. Soon. At the thought, he grew even more excited and his breathing began to match her pace.

Then his tongue cruised up her back and to her right ear one last time, placing him in the middle of the bed, his left half atop her right half, his right hand resting on the right pillow. It had been a carefully orchestrated, lusciously erotic ballet. And only he knew – or thought he knew – the enticing final act.

Earlier, he had mused on the difference between childhood and adult fantasies. Like every kid, he’d placed a baby tooth under his pillow at night, only to find the tooth gone and his reward for the loss, a couple of quarters, there in the morning. Thanks to the Tooth Fairy.

Now, he’d hidden the shiny black Oster clippers under the right pillow of the bed, and plugged them in hoping for a very different reward to come his way in the night. Not quarters. But wisps of hair falling over bare shoulders. Courtesy, he chuckled, of the Clipper Fairy.

Breaking the rhythm of his caressing kisses only slightly he reached slowly under the right pillow, gripping the clippers around the middle and slowly withdrawing them, their shape backlit by the neon green of the radio-alarm clock. With her head still buried in the other pillow, she noticed nothing, languishing in an almost trance-like arousal.

As he brought the clippers by her right ear, she noticed the shift in his weight and started to look up. His heart hammered furiously, both out of fear and the sheer thrill of what he contemplated. They had joked about this. And now….

Trembling, he flipped the switch. A loud click, then a low relentless and ominous buzz filled the air where there had only been heavy breathing before. She gasped, the current of fear practically visible as it raced from her ear through her brain and coursed down her body, already wired from his attention. She started to raise her right hand, but a curt “no!” stopped her cold. His weight, she found, firmly held her in place. The buzzing, the sustained low note offering no quarter, dominated.

“Nooooooo,” she moaned, almost gagging on her terror, barely able to speak.

He said nothing, just gently swung the clippers past her ear, touching the teeth fleetingly to the skin on her neck. Their tune changed, becoming more threatening as it rose and fell with the Doppler effect as they moved past her ear.

For perhaps too long, he teased with them, his resolve wavering, the indecision – unknown to her – only adding to the drama. Could really go through with it? Whether she consented – implicitly or explicitly?

He hit the switch. Off. Silence. Punctuated by rhythmic, rushing gasps.

They stayed like that for perhaps 20 seconds, though it may have been more. Her head turned slightly to the right and up, trying to look at him, trying to get a sense. Would he? Could he? Would she? His slightly trembling hand, armed with the imposing clippers, practically filled her field of view.

“You are,” he whispered, “incredibly shaggy. Just a little trim.”

“This won’t be a little trim… not in the dark,” she managed to mutter.

“True,” he said gently, “there’s no attachment.”

Her “whoaaaa” faded as he flipped the switch, feeling himself grow even harder as the buzz drowned out her plea for clemency. Again, he stationed it near her ear. Slowly, she turned her head back to the left, holding it straight, even raising it up a little to expose more of her neck to the forbidding hum. Her breathing grew deeper and her chest lifted off the bed in short gasps. A swallow caught in her throat and she shuddered visibly, the jump causing the clippers to rasp through a tuft of hair behind her ear. She moaned.

“Whoops,” he said, more relaxed now. Resolved, even smiling, though his heart still pounded. “We’ll have to straighten that out!” The statement ended with something that could be described only as a sly, quietly joyous chuckle.

He slid back down a little, using his left hand to raise her up at the hips. Meanwhile, he pushed the clippers, their steel teeth bared of any compromising plastic attachment, against the base of her neck behind her right ear. He left them there, just holding, his penis hard against the slickness of her thighs.

“Yessssssss,” she panted, one long permissive syllable. There was no hesitation.

He plowed the nibbling teeth into her hair. Below, he entered her, moving slowly in unison to the unveiling of her long, graceful nape. As the clippers peeled away the dark hair, cascading it over her ear, she took him fully with her softness. Two incredibly sensitive erotic zones being pleasured at the same time.

He finished mowing the first swath near her crown, then paused, feeling her sweetness. Then he pulled back to his tip, again placing the clippers at the base of her neck, this time in the middle. And again he gently thrust into her as the hair clotted up atop the teeth and fell on his hand. In the soft glow of the clock, he could pick out a field of whiteness, a beacon in the darkness he couldn’t resist kissing.

Another pass, another fulfilling thrust. They were both bucking to a deliberate motion now and he set the clippers, still on, by her left ear to run his tongue over the rough bristle on her nape, massaging her hairy crown as they shuddered, moaned and finally shouted their fantasy fulfilment to the room.

They rested a little, the clippers still sounding an arousing lullaby. Then he gently turned her over on her back. She smiled as she looked in his eyes and felt the hardness probing at her thighs. Reaching over he picked up the clippers and her grin broadened. “Yes,” she said, “finish what you’ve started. Now.”

He rested the silver teeth against her forehead, and paused. She closed her eyes. Then he guided them, like an old plow leveling a fall field, shearing a path leaving a soft brush in its wake. Their control earlier only made their abandon now more striking. And thrilling.

He let his tongue explore her deeply, his hands discovering the new zones of her freed skull: the small indentation halfway down her neck, the soft, open skin above her ears. Soon, his tongue, too, flickered through the stubble. She felt released, enthralled. And wrung out.

Tonight they would pleasure each other, the irrepressible ear to ear smiles of the smitten unseen in the darkness.

Just one of the rewards awaiting those who believe in the Clipper Fairy.

 

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