Lost Bet

Lost Bet

The Lost Bet – Anonymous

My girl had a nasty habit of betting at anything. And losing a good bit of money into the bargain. This was the only point of friction in an otherwise ok relationship. Most of the bets did not make much sense either. That still would not stop her from betting. After she lost one too many bets, I decided to do something to cure her of it. The solution I felt would be to hit her in such a place that she would think a lot more before taking a bet.

One day she came over to my room to see me. She snuggled in my arms, and talked of general gossip, and all that stuff that girls are prone to talk of. She was also highly interested in cricket and the World Cup was going on anyway. She was of the high hopes that India would pick up the cup, or at least make it to the final. I told her that it just wasn’t possible. They would be lucky to make it into the semi-final stage.

“Impossible. They will make it to the finals,” she asserted.

“Sorry baby. You are looking for too much,” I said.

“Bet?” she said. My heart skipped a beat. This was what I was waiting for.

“Sure. No problem,” I said.

“How much?”

“Nothing so vulgar as money.”

“Then?”

I took my time. Feeling her thick bun of hair (as big as the bun of a burger), and stroking her nape I said, “How about your hair?”

“What?”

“I win the bet, I get to cut your hair. You win the bet, you get anything you want. OK?”

She turned this over for a few minutes. She really loved her long thick silky tresses. So did I, but given the chance, I would like to run a pair of scissors through them.

“OK. It’s a deal.”

Over the next one month we followed the progress of World Cup ’99. The Indian team somehow found its way out of the prelims into the super-six league. But I suspected if they would qualify for the next stage. I was right. The Indian team (and once again, my girl’s) luck had run out. She was with me on the day the last flicker of hope for the team died off.

“Well baby, you lost the bet,” I said feeling for her long thick plait. She didn’t say anything as I picked it up and caressed it. She had shampooed her hair that morning and her hair smelt beautiful.

“You aren’t going to cut my hair, are you?” she asked on the verge of breaking into tears.

I wasn’t going to let go of this chance. For a long time I had a desire, albeit not too over-powering, to cut and shave a woman’s hair.

“You lost the bet didn’t you?”

“But….”

“No buts. I already told you a thousand times not to make foolish bets,” I said sternly.

She didn’t have any reply to this. But a couple of tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Go ahead and cut my hair. See if I care,” she said defiantly. But I knew it was a put-on. She would be hurt to lose her long silky hair. She broke down again. I gathered her into my arms.

“Serves me right for making foolish bets,” she sobbed.

“Ok now, stop crying,” I said, “I’m only doing it so that you will not be so careless in future.”

She controlled herself somehow. But I could see that she was still sad.

“Come on, Get up and get your hair cut,” I said.

She looked at me and got up.

“How much are you going to cut?” she asked.

“All of it, baby.”

She choked back a sob.

“Can’t you settle for a bob-cut instead?”

“Sorry.”

She sighed with resignation and sorrow. I got up and led her to a chair. As she sat down I picked up her long thick plait (around 4 feet of it) and let it down behind the chair. She was used to this as I used to comb out her hair whenever she visited me. Only this time things were different. I began to unplait her hair. I rummaged around and finally found the comb that I used for her regularly. “For some time now you won’t be needing these,” I said, removing her hair clips. Then I gathered up her silken tresses and began to comb them out in slow steady strokes, savouring every moment of it. I combed steadily for about ten minutes and then parted her hair right down the middle into two sections. I found a couple of rubber bands and twisted them around her hair into two ponytails.

“Be right back,” I said, ducking into the bathroom for the towels. No cape. She’ll have to settle for towels. I got three of them. Then I had to search a bit to find a pair of scissors that would cut her hair. I found a pair of tailoring scissors that I had bought to cut the legs of my old jeans. I thought she would faint when she saw the scissors.

I stood behind her and reached forward around her and slowly unbuttoned her blouse and opened it. She was wearing a gauzy white bra. Making her lean forward I gently slipped off her blouse. Then I unhooked her bra, went in front of her and slowly drew it off. Her breasts lay exposed. I reached for her left breast. She laid a hand on mine as I gently squeezed it. She managed a smile despite her sorrow. I bent and took her right breast into my mouth and kissed and sucked it, stroking her soft nipple with my tongue. She let out a small moan.

I laid one towel across her back slipping it under her twin ponytails. Another one went across her upper body and the third across her lap. Then I picked up the scissors. I bent her head forward till her chin touched her chest and to the left. Picking up her right ponytail, I wound all four feet of it around my hand. It was a thick bunch. Then I put the scissors to her hair and started cutting. SSSCCCCCCCCRRRRRUUUUUUNNNNNNCCHHHHHH! The scissors bit into the fat ponytail. Boy, I was getting excited. SSCCCCCCCCRRRRRRRRRRRRRRKKKKKKKK! SSSSNNNNNNNNNIIIIIIIIPPPPPP! The final snip released the ponytail into my hands. A sprinkling of fine hair was on the towel covering her shoulders. I let the ponytail unravel and laid it across her lap. “One down, one more to go,” I said.

Then I bent her head to the right and picked up her left ponytail. Coiled it around my hand and held it firmly. Then once again I put the scissors to it. Once, twice, thrice, the scissors chewed into her ponytail setting it free. Then I picked up the comb and begin to comb her hair back. Bending her head forward once again, I pushed up a large clump of hair at her nape. SLASH! SNIP! CLIP! SNIP! It rolled off her shoulders and fell at my feet. Slashing and snipping away at the back of her head, I worked my way to the top of her head.

I went to her right side, bent her head to the left and once again repeated the act. The floor and her lap were getting to be quite full of her snipped hair. When I finally finished snipping her hair short on her left side, there was about half an inch of hair. Now I changed for a different pair of scissors originally intended to cut cardboard for my model planes. Without the comb, I began to snip away the hair that was left, as close to the scalp as I could manage. Fifteen minutes of snipping later, her hair had gone from knee-length to practically nothing.

“Is it over yet?” she asked.

“Five more minutes,” I said, slipping into the bathroom for my cordless shaver. I switched it on, intending to shave away whatever stubble was left. I bent her head forward again and ran the shaver from the nape to the top of her head, clearing a 2 1/2 inch strip. I kissed the exposed scalp. Four more times and the back of her head was only skin. The next run was from behind her ears over her side locks and to her forehead. Two more strokes laid the scalp bare.

Five minutes later she had a shorn scalp, and looked a lot sexier than before, all those gentle features enhanced. I took off the towels dumping her shorn tresses to the floor.

I pulled her up from the chair. She was still downcast. I took her into my arms, held her tight and kissed her shorn scalp. And stroked it. It felt so smooth and soft.

“I won’t ever make another bet,” I heard her mumble. “But I enjoyed the shave.” I raised her face to mine. She had that dreamy look she would get when aroused.

“Will you shave me regularly if I don’t make another bet?” she asked.

“You look sexy without any hair on. But I’ll shave you again when your hair grows out again,” I said, kissing her slowly and passionately. I pressed into her crotch gently but forcefully. A small moan.

“When?”

“Hmmmm…. once it falls past your shoulders.” I said pushing her to arm’s length and putting both arms on her shoulders.

My glance fell on her naked breasts. Her nipples were hard and erect. She was aroused by the shave despite her sorrow at losing her lovely long thick black locks. A lock of hair still clung to her right one. I flicked it off and squeezed her breast gently. Then I kissed her firm breast and gently sucked on her hard nipple. She let out another moan while squeezing the other one gently. I never made rough love to her. She always liked it slow, easy and gentle. Nor did I ever feel the need to act rough. A small moan. I slipped off her skirt and panties, undressed and took her to bed. On the floor a heap of black silky hair and two four-foot ponytails awaited disposal.

— END <--- >

 

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