I had short hair when I met him.
Then lockdown happened, and my hair grew. For the first time in years, I let it grow past my shoulders. Over my tits. Every month maintaining it becomes harder. I buy more expensive shampoo. I get a sleep turban to protect it from breaking.
Mg choice of self harm has always been my hair. Pulling it out, leaving bald spots behind my ears, leaving me without eyelashes. When my mother died, I nearly pulled out all of my hair.
These days, my OCD is still triggered sometimes, but I try to choose edges over pulling. Ask him to spank me when I want to feel pain. Focus on the ache between my legs to distract my body from the desire to hurt itself.
When I take care of my hair, I am taking care of me. It’s a symbol more than anything. I cut it all off when I’m sad. I dyed it blonde once, after a breakup.
But now, it’s growing. Longer than I have let it grow since I was in my teens. First because of lockdown, then because of the wedding.
Last night, while we were cuddling I said, ‘I think I might cut it short again, now that hairdressers are open.’
‘No. You’re not allowed to cut it short. I like your long hair.’
He knows, I think, that letting my hair grow long, nurturing it, taking care of it, watching the bald spots grow hair again, is a symbol of healing that I need.
That, and he likes pulling it while he fucks me.
I look up at him with a slight pout. Not necessarily unhappy with his instructions, but trying to find the limit. ‘What if I did it anyway?’
He smiles, hugs me tighter, kisses my forehead. ‘I wouldn’t let you cum until it grew back.’
I whimper and hide my face in his chest.
‘How long has it been? A year, right? That should be enough to teach you not to disobey me. You can have a year with short hair, if you want a year without orgasms.’
‘You are, very, very mean.’
‘You knew that when you married me.’
I blush and smile at him. He knows how wet he makes me. I am tempted to point out that we changed the vows so I never promised to obey him, but my last orgasm was long enough ago to stop me from being too cheeky.
‘Maybe if you were really bad, I’d cut it off myself. Maybe only a few inches the first time. That might only take a month or two to grow back. But you’d always know that I could shave you, and you wouldn’t be able to cum again until your hair touched your shoulders.’
I close my eyes, slightly overwhelmed by the fantasy. I can’t say anything so I just whimper. He kisses me again and I moan.
I remember the vows we took, the words we spoke. With my body I honour you. All that I am I give to you.
How true they have been for us. How fully he owns me. I have never been loved like this.
I have never loved like this.