Night Out

Night Out

A Night Out by KUTME

The bar was very smoky and loud. She almost regretted having come out tonight as she let her eyes slowly glide across the faces around her. Tall men, short men, handsome men, ugly men… Nobody caught her attention, they were all lacking that special sparkle in the eye that made her weak and could bring her down to her knees, begging to be fucked. She sighed with boredom and supported her pretty chin with an exquisite, long-fingered hand. Her heavy dark brown hair spilled around her face, brushing against the counter of the bar. Suddenly she heard a hiss, and lifted her head, startled.

“Oh, dear, I am so sorry, I am terribly sorry…”

The asshole had actually burned her hair with his damned cigarette. She was about to start swearing when she noticed that he had that certain something she’d been hoping to find tonight. He was holding the severed strand of hair between his fingers, looking at her as if he could do her right there and then, on the bar, to hell with the other people.

She smiled instead.

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“You ought to be more careful.”

She could feel a stirring between her legs, so she secretively put a hand into the pocket and rubbed and pressed on her pussy.

“Can I get you a drink, to make up for it?”

“I think you’d better.”

They talked, and every now and again he would caress her hair, a gesture that sent her so close to an orgasm, she had to ask him to stop after a while.

“Why, don’t you like it?”

The hand in the pocket pressed harder.

“I think I need to get some fresh air,” she managed to blurt out.

They walked outside. She was hot, alright. The nervous hand was rubbing feverishly now. Could he see that she wanted him to grab her breasts and to squeeze the shit out of them?

“How about a drive?” he asked.

“Where to?”

“It’s a surprise.”

The wind played with her hair in the convertible. It fluttered around her face as he bent over and whispered silly things into her ear. She was laughing out loud.

“My hair is getting knotted up in this wind.”

“May I brush it for you later?”

“Yes, if that is not the only thing you want to do to me.”

His trousers were bulging with his hard penis. She could see a dark drop on his jeans. She moaned softly.

His flat was spacious and bare of furniture.

“Where’s the bed?”

“No bed,” he answered laconically.

“So what, you gonna fuck me on this chair?”

An elaborate chair of wrought iron was the centre piece of the lounge. The seat was padded with red velvet.

“You want me to fuck you?”




“You want me to hurt you?”


“You want me to humiliate you?”

“More than anything.”

Before she knew what was happening he had grabbed her by her thick hair and was forcing her hands behind her back. She heard a click and realized she’d been handcuffed.

“Oh, fuck, this is neat.”

“Shut up, bitch.”

“Oh, I like this.”

“I said, shut… the fuck… up.” Each pause was accompanied by a stinging slap across the face.

She came in a hot burst of fluids as the tears were streaming down her red cheeks.

He was holding a knife. Grabbing her hair with his left hand, he pulled her head backwards and pressed the cold blade against her throat.

“If I hear another sound from you, I swear I will cut your fucking throat, bitch.”

She nodded eagerly. He slipped the knife under the top button of her tight denim shirt. She was wearing no bra. Her breasts spilled out, the nipples as hard as little rocks, her hair brushing against them. He bent down to lick one nipple.

“Fucking hair’s in the way.”

She shook her head and bared her breasts for him. He was looking her straight in the eyes, the left nipple between forefinger and thumb, squeezing, then twisting. Her tears welled up again as he slowly, without taking his eyes off of her, bent down and bit into the nipple.

She screamed.

“I told you to shut the fuck up,” he whispered.

“I’m so sorry,” she sobbed, her eyes wide with fear and excitement.

“Too late, bitch.” His hiss startled her. He was taking something out of his pocket. A comb. And some scissors.

“Oh, come on, man.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Listen, enough is enough!” This was a scream. She was getting hysterical.

“You’re right there, baby.”

She could only let out little whimpering sounds with the tape across her mouth.

He was brushing her hair forward, over her nipples, nicking them with the plastic comb with every stroke. The bitten nipple was bleeding a little. Her heavy hair lay over her breasts, smooth and shiny, as he closed the scissors just below the left shoulder. She felt the severed hair slide over her bleeding nipple.

“That’s better, isn’t it?”

He gently placed his lips on her breast and licked off the blood. She was shivering with terror, staring at the hair on the floor, and then at her shoulder.

“Relax, darling, I’m gonna make you happy.”

He put down the scissors and picked up the knife again. He cut off the buttons of her Levis, one by one. She kicked out, as hard as she could.

He was faster.

The blow knocked her onto the floor.

“You filthy little bitch.”

She was lying on the floor, face down, sobbing silently.

“Oh, baby, I am sorry, I am so sorry, darling. See what you’ve made me do.”

He helped her up gently and pushed the hair out of her face. He wiped her tears.

“Don’t cry now, there’s a good girl. Daddy will make you happy.”

With two quick slashes of the knife he ripped the jeans off of her legs. She wasn’t wearing any underwear. High-heeled boots and watch, and her asymmetrical haircut were all that adorned her now. He took the scissors again. The blades open, he run them down her still-intact hair on the right side, then over her nipple, pressing them against it, then down her flat stomach and shut them with a loud snip over her pubic hair. The dark tuft floated through the air and settled on her toes. He bent over, picked it up and smelled it, inhaling deeply.

“Mmm, pussy.”

The next sixty seconds he was busy snipping and cutting down there, pulling, and leaving behind bare skin.

“Sit down, baby, so we can even this up.”

She sat down complacently, opening her legs. He came back with a bowl of shaving cream and a straight razor. He grabbed some of the cream and started to rub it into her pussy, at first gently, then pressing harder, eventually bruising and scratching the tender skin. The razor made a scraping sound, accompanied by a moan and the gush of her orgasm.

“Do you like this, baby?”

She didn’t dare move or make a sound.

He placed his lips on her bare genitals and sucked slowly, then he rubbed his cheek against them. The stubble on his face left scratch marks on the smoothly shaven skin. He produced some aftershave, poured an ample amount into the palm of his hand and slapped it hard into the red skin. She winced with pain, which made him squeeze her hard.

“Shut up, baby. Shut up.”

He helped her up and led her into a bent-over position, her face resting on the chair, the red velvet stained with a mixture of come, shaving cream and pubic hair, her legs widely spread. He was shaving around her asshole now, pulling at the skin to smooth out the folds. When he was done he wiped her anus with a hot towel, and then he sank his tongue into it. Twisting it in a circle, pushing it in and out, he soon realised she was moving her backside to accommodate his movements. He quickly lifted his head and slapped her bare, shaven ass, hard. The sound seemed to echo through the bare flat. He unzipped his jeans and took out his enormously swollen penis.

“Relax, baby. Relax, this is going to be good.”

He was holding her backside firmly, fucking her rhythmically, in the ass.

Soon he grew bored, pulling out, annoyed. He picked up the scissors again and slowly slipped them into her ass. In and out, in and out. In…

He started opening them. She was squirming with pain. He closed them again and pulled them out. He finally ejaculated when he wiped the bloody blades on his penis.

Kissing the bleeding asshole one last time he turned her over gently and seated her into the chair. The scissors, metal against hair, moved just below her right shoulder. She could feel the cold steel against her back. Open and close. Open and close. Going a step up, at the middle of her back. Touching the bottom of her ear as they reached the end of their journey. She knew her hair must be hanging diagonally, reaching from her left ear to her right shoulder blade. He had stopped cutting.

“Did you enjoy that, baby?”

He wiped her tears again, ever so gentle, and grabbing the comb, he started running it through her hair.

“Baby, you’re a mess. Can’t let you go home like this.”

He picked up the scissors.

“Honey, you’re gonna look so good.”

The scissors in the right hand, he was jerking his penis with the left.

“I’ll even this out.”

He was standing in front of her, rubbing her severed hair into her genitals, against her breasts.

“Good, this is so good.”

He was behind her again, the scissors at her neck, snipping and pulling. Cutting along the hairline. He was combing down and cutting, combing and cutting, above her ear now, along the hairline. He combed the hair over her face and continued using the hairline as a guide. The scissors were pressing hard against her forehead, which was being revealed, tufts of hair flying past her nose, falling onto her bare breasts and thighs. He was at the other ear now, cutting fervently and groaning. When he reached the spot where he had started he dropped the scissors, ripped the tape from her mouth and pulled her head down.

“Suck, baby, suck hard.”

As she took his penis into her mouth, he thrust forward, almost choking her, and came. She started coughing, his now limp penis still in her mouth, come trickling from the corner of her lips. He grabbed the remaining hair on the crown of her head and pulled.

“Did you enjoy this, baby?”

She groaned.

He pulled harder, yanking some hair out by the roots.

“I didn’t hear you, baby.”


He let go and stroked her cheek.

“My darling. My baby. My love. ”

He kept stroking her cheek, then her chopped hair. He was kissing her face, then her mouth.

“Love you, baby.”

He undid the handcuffs, placed one arm beneath her knees, lovingly, and picked her up. He laid the burning body into the cold bath tub and turned on the water.

“Is the temperature OK, baby?”

She didn’t even lift her disfigured head to look at him.

He was kneeling next to the full bathtub, washing her mutilated hair, rubbing the shampoo into her head slowly, gently. His last orgasm shook him when she stopped fighting to lift her head out of the water for a breath.

Her body was doubled over in the bathtub, the nose touching the knees, what was left of her thick dark brown hair floating around her head, moving gently back and forth, back and forth…

He was snipping at his own pubic hair, slowly baring the area at the base of his penis.

“Smooth, it’s got to be smooth.”

Cutting fervently, muttering to himself.

There was a lot of blood when he cut off the penis.

When the police found him, wrists sliced open with a straight razor, the penis was missing. It took an autopsy to extract the half-digested pieces from his intestines.



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