3mm by Rory

---

He had always known that fantasy had been with him for years—silent, hidden in a corner of his mind. A whispered thought, almost embarrassing: the idea that someone might shave his hair. Not by accident. Not out of necessity. But slowly. With desire. With intention.

Elia kept it like a secret. His hair was his signature: long, curly, red like copper warmed by the sun. Wherever he went, it was what drew people’s gaze. And yet, every time he looked in the mirror, he wondered what it would be like to lose it all—his hair and his control.

One night, while they were lying in bed, still wrapped in the warmth of freshly made love, Lara absentmindedly stroked his hair. She let it slip through her fingers, twisting it slowly. Elia’s breath deepened.

"What is it?" she asked, still touching him.

He hesitated. But then the words came out—hoarse, sincere: "Sometimes… I dream of someone shaving it all off. Down to just a few millimeters. And… it turns me on."

Lara hadn’t expected that confession. But she didn’t flinch. On the contrary. A different kind of smile curved her lips—slower. More dangerous.

"Really?" she asked, eyes narrowing. "You get turned on by the idea of being… completely shaved?"

He nodded, a little embarrassed. His cheeks were red. His eyes lowered. But the erection returning between the sheets spoke for him.

She said nothing more. She kissed his neck and whispered something in his ear.

In the days that followed, Lara began watching Elia differently. When he tied his hair back. When he washed it in the shower. When he bent down and the strands fell over his face. And she imagined. She imagined what lay beneath those long curls. She imagined his skin, the curve of his skull, the feeling of her hands gliding over it. Her fantasy fed on his. And it grew.

A few days later, in secret, she bought a quiet, professional hair clipper with adjustable settings. She hid it in the bedside drawer, already fitted with the 3mm guard, next to the condoms and the lube.

That evening was different. The room was bathed in a warm, dim light. Lara wore a thin black slip, like shadow and desire woven into fabric. Elia looked at her, dazed by her beauty, but also by a sense of anticipation he couldn’t quite explain.

They kissed slowly. Her hands guided him to the bed, undressed him gently. Once he was naked, Lara laid him down. She climbed on top of him, legs wrapped around him, her breath growing thicker.

Then, without a word, she reached into the drawer and pulled out two black silk restraints, grabbing his wrists. The feel of silk tying his hands made time seem to stop.

Elia looked at her, confused. "What…?"

"Shh… trust me," she murmured, fastening his wrists to the bedframe. The silk didn’t hurt—but it was firm. Inescapable.

Only then did Lara get up slowly and take out the clippers. She turned them on with a soft click. A low hum filled the room.

"Lara… no, not now… please…" he stammered. His eyes were glassy, his voice uncertain. But his erection told another story.

She turned on the clipper. Vrrrrrr. A quiet, mechanical, vibrating sound.

"You said it turns you on. And I want to watch you lose control."

He shook his head, almost in tears. "Please… just one lock. Just for fun…"

She leaned over him. Her breasts brushed his chest. Her nose touched his forehead.

And without hesitation, she sank the clippers into his hair. From the center of his forehead to the nape of his neck. A clean, clear strip. The long, red curls fell in messy tufts—onto the pillow, his face, his chest. The air filled with the scent of his hair.

"There’s no going back now," she whispered.

Elia gasped. His body tensed, as if something had pierced him. "Please… stop…"

But it wasn’t really a "no." It was a deeper plea—one made of desire and fear.

The locks began falling like rain, one after the other, onto his skin, the bed, the restraints. They were soft, light, red like extinguished flames, covering the white sheets like petals.

Lara smiled slightly. She caressed his face with one hand while guiding the clippers with the other—slow, cruel, loving. Each pass revealed a new part of Elia’s head: the pale skin, the velvety feel of the shaved hair, that faint red still visible underneath.

He trembled. Tears filled his eyes. "It’s too much…"

She bent down to kiss him, warm, sure. "You’re beautiful. Let go."

And as she continued shaving, Elia arched beneath her. He felt her on top of him—her skin on his, the heat rising. He wanted to kiss her, touch her, take her… but he was restrained, and in that helplessness, he found a fierce pleasure.

The curls kept falling—slow, thick. They covered the bed, clung to his bare skin, slid down his sides, landed between his thighs.

Halfway through, with the top of his head already velvety smooth, Lara moved on top of him. She guided him inside her, slowly, holding him still, pinned.

He moaned, voice breaking.

She picked up the clipper in one hand, the other resting on his chest. She kept shaving from the nape to the temples, reveling in the contrast between her control and Elia’s total surrender.

"Look how beautiful you are like this," she said, running her tongue along the freshly shaved line.

And then, without stopping, while still running the clippers over his head, she lowered herself again, brushing against him with her warm, wet body. The shaving and the arousal blended into a single dizzying rush. When the blade carved another path—another lock fell between their naked bodies.

Elia moaned, overwhelmed, torn between pain and pleasure. As she moved on him—sensual, confident—with the clipper still in hand, she shaved his head with every thrust. The curls flew, stuck to their sweaty bodies. The bed was covered in red hair, like a fiery blanket wrapping their moans.

"Look at it all falling," Lara whispered, passing the clippers over his temples. "Every curl. Everything you thought defined you. Now you’re mine. Only mine."

Elia cried. For the loss. For the shame. For the devastating pleasure. He was naked. Vulnerable. And yet never so alive.

"You okay?" she whispered.

"Yes… yes… please, keep going," he panted.

"Don’t stop…" Elia whispered, trying to stay in control, but his voice betrayed the hidden pleasure he was feeling. "Don’t stop…"

Every movement was slow, meticulous, as if she wanted to make the moment last as long as possible—to heighten Elia’s desire, and her own. The curls, red as flames, fell around them like stardust. Lara moved on him gently, with purpose, as the last locks were removed.

Elia was losing control. He couldn’t tell if his body trembled from fear or from the pleasure growing inside him, from the vulnerability that grew more intense with each second. "Please, don’t stop…" he repeated, but this time his voice was stronger, heavy with longing.

When the last lock fell, she tossed the clippers aside and bent down to kiss him deeply. Elia’s head was smooth—shaved to 3 millimeters. A warm, velvety carpet. Irresistible.

They were together in an intense act of love, emotions amplified by Elia’s vulnerability and Lara’s sense of control. Elia arched, breath ragged, mouth open in an attempt to name her, to thank her, to beg for more. But no words were needed.

His bound body moved as best it could under her absolute control. And Lara, on top, rode him slowly. In power. In pleasure. Her hands caressed his almost bare head, velvety to the touch. Every time she stroked him like that, he trembled.

The fallen hair beneath them created a soft, chaotic bed. A stolen crown. A sacrifice.

Each thrust, each movement, was a ritual—a declaration: an act of love through domination.

Pleasure overwhelmed them quickly, like a wave too high. When they climaxed, almost together, Lara screamed his name. Elia writhed, chained, naked to the soul.

Lara untied his wrists, and he threw himself onto her, clutching her as if he wanted to merge with her, closing his eyes and breathing deeply to catch his breath.

Afterward, as they lay wrapped in each other among the scattered curls, Lara whispered, "You’re mine."

Elia smiled, holding her tighter. "Always."

Calm after the storm.
————————-
Elia lay on his side, body still exhausted, his shaved head resting on Lara’s bare chest. She gently stroked the back of his head in slow, circular motions, as if soothing an invisible wound.

His arms, now free, held her tightly. His fingers intertwined behind her back, as if begging her never to leave again.

"I still can’t believe it," he whispered, his voice hoarse but full of emotion.

"How do you feel?" she asked, playing with his shaved head, running her fingers over it with wonder.

Elia laughed, his eyes shining. "I don’t know… maybe I still need to get used to it. Did I look sexier before?" he asked between kisses.

"You’re perfect now. More yourself."

They curled up together among the fallen curls, like autumn leaves.

He kissed her. "I want you to do it again. When it grows back. Please… do it again."

Lara smiled, resting her head on his chest. "It’ll be our little ritual, a kind of tradition. Whenever you need it, just ask—and I’ll be ready to satisfy your cravings."

"I love you," he murmured, holding her tighter.

"I love you too. So much. And you’re still gorgeous—even without your lion’s mane."

He burst out laughing, and so did she, kissing him between fits of laughter. They teased each other about the absurd amount of hair on the bed—Lara said it looked like they’d skinned an Irish pixie. Elia replied that now he’d have to buy a hat and sunglasses so he wouldn’t blind people with the glare from his scalp.

But between the jokes, the smiles held something deeper. Intimacy. The kind that only comes after showing oneself truly naked—body and soul.

"Thank you," he whispered, as Lara’s fingers returned to softly massage his head. "It was my biggest fantasy. And you… you made it so much more."

"It was mine too," she replied, snuggling against his chest. "I just didn’t know it yet."

They curled up beneath the sheet, among the fallen curls and the scent of their mingled skin. Their breathing slowed, steady. Fingers entwined, bodies fused. Neither wanted to be the first to close their eyes—but eventually, sleep won.

---