Free Surrender: Erotic Tales of Female Pleasure and Submission by Rachel Kramer Bussel, Donna George Storey Page B

awkwardly on the bare wooden floor, feeling somewhat like a sacrificial lamb. I rubbed the dry skin over my elbows, wishing Lola had told me where to buy her cocoa-butter moisturizer that worked wonders on my skin. I was fidgeting, and I knew it, but I was so nervous, I couldn’t keep still. What if Lola had been right? If I lost my hair, became truly naked, would I become a bald, ugly hag? Would I be a freak? I took a deep, calming breath. I could do this. The reward would be worth the effort involved.
    Ash came out, startling me by the speed with which he strode across the floor. He wore a long leather apron that made him look like Sweeney Todd. I shuddered at the connection and wished my mind could be still right now. Ash looked me up and down. I squirmed a little beneath his gaze, although he smiled gently at me.
    “Relax, Selma.”
    “I am relaxed.”
    “I’ve got some restraints if you like. You can use the handcuffs I made last week.”
    “Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll be fine.”
    Ash looked at me once more. Through the curtain of my hair I saw him nod.
    “I’ll make a start then.” He fished into a pocket on his apron. He pulled out a large hairbrush. “Kneel.”
    This was something I could understand, something I was familiar with. Suddenly I didn’t feel so scared. A simple order to submit was what I lived for. I folded myself down and knelt on the bare wooden floor. Ash stood behind me. He clutched a handful of my hair, pulling me back roughly. I gasped; the tug was a trigger of pleasure for me. I felt my skin flush with blood as I became aroused. My clit pulsed between my legs, hungry for sensation. I shuddered from my head right down to my toes. I leaned into Ash’s grip, but he stilled my movements.
    “Rapunzel,” he whispered. “Let down your hair.” Ash swept the brush through my locks in a series of long strokes. My hair shone and my heart sang. I was literally purring by the time I counted to fifty. As if in a fog, I heard Ash’s voice above me. “Ready?” he asked.
    “Yes.” I bowed my head as he delved into his pocket once more. This time he held up an oversized rubber band. His hands carefully pulled and stroked my hair into a single ponytail, which he secured efficiently.
    I closed my eyes and breathed out, but I refused to look at the next item Ash produced. I knew he held the shears now; I could feel the cold radiate from the metal as it neared my face. I felt like I was waiting for my turn at the guillotine in revolutionary France. My breath froze. I forced myself to swallow, to stay alive long enough to get through this. I listened to the slice of metal, the long snap of razor-sharp blades on my precious hair. Twelve years, I thought. Twelve years of length, of feminine beauty that everyone could see. I felt little wisps escape Ash’s hands. I wriggled my nose but remained still as he worked quickly. And then I started to feel a lightness, a new weightlessness as Ash stepped away from me. A curl of warm air touched the nape of my neck as he breathed out in relief.
    I watched Ash as he stood in front of me. “It should be ready in the morning.” I made a move to stand, but Ash stopped me with a raised hand. “Stay there.” He disappeared into his lab, only to return with a set of electric clippers. I sat in dazed shock as he dispatched the last remaining strands of my hair. The buzz of the clippers made me shake, and even when he stepped away, smiling with satisfaction, I couldn’t stop trembling. He’d taken everything. Something must have shown on my face, because his smile became softer. “Stay tonight.”
    Ash found a blanket from one of his lockers, and then he lay with me in the middle of the floor; the feel of his clothes on my bare skin made me feel vulnerable, childlike but alive with sensation. I stopped shaking when I curled around his warm bulk. My friend stayed with me until I fell asleep.
     
    As soon as I awoke the next morning, my hand went to my bare