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This story was written for Day #20 of Kinktober 2017! Today's theme is Femdom, and the story was written for SHM128III. It contains F/F sexual acts involving consenting adults. :)

A New Look, A New Me

I swear, I only went into the salon for directions.

I hate doing that. I hate going into a business and not intending to buy anything, but there were no convenience stores on the street and to be honest of all the shops there were, I was just... drawn to that one. Now I guess I know why. I might have only gone in for directions, but it turned out that was where I had been headed all along. I just didn't know it until I met her.

As soon as I set eyes on the gryphon, she was all over me. I'm not the most forward person, never have been, but there was just something about the way she swept over that left me totally off guard. She was stroking my hair, her hands so soft, so dextrous. She was complimenting my fur, asking me about my beauty regime. Before I knew it she had her hands on my shoulders, leading me over to her chair. The only chair in the shop, actually. It was large, leather, almost pure black with just the slightest shine to it, and... now I think about it, I guess it was a little weird that it had leather straps attached to the arms, the legs, and around the headrest.

"Okay baby, now... let's see... what do you need, hmm?"

That was my chance. My one opportunity to tell her that actually all I needed was directions. But as she sat me down in the chair, shamelessly grabbing my feet and lifting them up onto the leg-rests, kinda high up so my knees were bent and my legs themselves spread open, I couldn't talk. I couldn't do anything except stare at her face, her long, slender yellow beak and those eyes. God, those eyes. She looked me up and down like she was seeing right through me. Past my clothes. Past my skin. Into my very heart and soul. But then her eyes met mine again. She cocked her head, and the corners of her beak turned up in what was more than a smile. It was like her whole body began to glow.

"Of course."

She giggled.

"Of course that's what you need."

Then she was gone. Red wings sweeping away behind her and leaving me sitting in the chair, still untied, still free to talk, to tell her this was all a big misunderstanding, to get up and leave. I could have. Maybe I should have wanted to then, not knowing what I know now. But, I didn't. I was too embarrassed. Too overwhelmed. I just stared at myself in the mirror. The woman who'd been dumped three months ago. The woman who'd been dumped by a guy who had given her maybe two orgasms in the space of more than a year sleeping with him, and still wasn't ready to date. Still wasn't ready to get dressed up and go out on the town looking for even a casual hook up. I stared at the white wolf in the mirror, my face blank, framed by my long curly hair, and wondered if maybe this wasn't a blessing in disguise.

A new look. A new me. Something had to change. Why not make it everything?

By the time she returned, I was ready to tell her to do whatever she wanted to me. Hell, I was ready to not say a word and just let her loose. But of course, it was then she started to engage. To talk to me.

"My name's Dominique. This is my salon. What's your name, baby?"

I told her. Christine. My voice was so weak, barely a croak, but I don't think that was why she said what escaped her beak next.

"Oh, no. No I don't think so."

She giggled as though I'd told a joke, and grabbed at the top of my head with one strong hand. She held it firm, pointing it dead ahead so I was staring right at myself in the mirror once more, and leaned down over my shoulder so that she was looking at the reflection as closely to how I saw it as possible. After a few moments she gave that smile again, so full of energy and excitement I couldn't help but smile myself. It only lasted for as long as her gaze lingered on the reflection of my own though, then she stood back upright and all of a sudden I felt the leather strap of the chair's harness wrap around my neck. It felt like a collar... don't ask me when or why I wore a collar last, I don't want to talk about it. But that was how it felt, only, this time it didn't feel restrictive. Not in a bad way, at least. It felt like... like I didn't have to worry any more. I couldn't move. My choice to wiggle around, to escape, to end this had been snatched away by Dominique. Except, even if it hadn't, I think I would have given it to her had she only asked.

The gryphon bound my wrists to the chair's arms, then my legs, still keeping them spread apart so that the crotch of my jeans was on full display. Only when I was fully bound did she return behind me, though not before swiping a pair of scissors from a large jar of glistening pink fluid and cleaning them off on a length of white towel as she swept around the chair, around me. I felt her fingers rush through my hair, gasping, whimpering as I wondered what she was going to do, what she was going to cut. But, I needn't have worried. Not about that, not quite yet. It wasn't my hair she was planning on cutting.

I remember how loud I cried out when she reached down in front of me and began to cut my blouse, unceremoniously and shamelessly snipping at it with those incredibly sharp scissors like it was made out of tissue paper. She cut the sleeves and the back and just pulled it off me like it had never been there. After that, I wasn't even shocked when she did the same thing to my bra. I couldn't speak. I couldn't move, though that was as much due to the restraints as my surprise. I just sat there, red faced beneath my fur and trembling as she leaned over me, peering down into my face as though looking for my reaction. Would I scream at her in anger? Would I beg her to let me go? Would I weep? Would I giggle?

She smiled at me, and that was when I said it. When I told her the truth, a truth that I hadn't told anyone in... well, I think since one drunk night in my college years, with one of my best friends at the time. If she remembered the next day, she never mentioned it. Neither did I, especially not to my boyfriend at the time.

"I... I've always dressed in a way I thought guys would like, e-even though when they pay attention to me, I just wish they'd go away."

She leaned over me even more, one hand cupping the side of my head, turning it to face her better, forcing me to look away from the mirror, away from myself and her reflection, to the real thing. The other hand fell lower. It felt it touch my breast. Quietly, I've always been proud of my breasts. I... I might have even found them kind of hot, narcissistic as that sounds. But the guys I've been with, they never seem to know what to do with them. Either they don't care at all, or they're obsessed by them. Either they ignore them, or they're so wrapped up in what they want to do with them that I never get to tell them what I want.

I didn't have to tell Dominique though. She just knew. How to touch it. How to squeeze, fondle, caress. When she tweaked my nipple between her fingers I swear to god I almost came. It was like my whole body turned to molten lava. My fingers gripped at the chair arms beneath them. I heard myself moan, and shuddered as all of a sudden one of her fingers was in my mouth, caressing my lips as I tried to lick it, to suckle on it, whimpering as she kept it just out of reach of all but the most gentle caresses I could apply.

Then she released me, and before I could cry out and beg her to touch me more, the scissors were back in her hand. They were flying. Snipping. And this time it wasn't clothes they were cutting. I stared back into the mirror and watched as my hair, my long, beautiful snowy hair fell away in droves of tumbling curls, hacked shorter and shorter until she began to work with more precision, trimming it off so the bangs that curled down past my eyes to one side were the longest remaining part, the rest hanging down along the sides of my skull. Dominique stepped away again after that, back in front of me, and she plucked an electric razor from the counter in front of the mirror. The guard was still on it, but she turned it on nonetheless and it buzzed loudly into life. In fact, I don't think I'd ever heard such a loud, powerful sounding set of clippers. I could practically see them vibrating in her hand, and I watched as she moved them towards me. Not towards my head though. Not towards my hair, or any furred part of me on display.

When she pressed the flat surface of the clippers' body to the crotch of my jeans, I thought I was going to pass out. Maybe I did for a split second. I'd always known that I found women inherently attractive, but I thought that was maybe just a thing women felt about other women. Like, it was why we complimented one another on our appearances so much, because there was some strange sort of innate sexual attraction between all ladies. At least, that was one of the excuses. One of the many, many excuses I'd used all those years I'd spent dating men and being endlessly disappointed by guys who, as far as I know might have been great for a woman who was actually interested and invested in the relationships they were offering.

When I felt her hand pushing that vibrator, because let's face it, that's exactly what it was however makeshift, against my crotch, that was when the blinkers fell away. When I realised what I had been missing all these years. It wasn't about it not being the right time, it wasn't about me being too busy with high school finals, then college applications, then prep for college, then college, then my exams, then more college, then more exams, my dissertation, my job applications, my job, my career... it wasn't about any of that stopping me from finding the right man. It was this simple fact. It was a woman's touch I needed. And it was a woman, Dominique, who knew that was what I needed.

My feet drummed against the rests to which they were bound. I threw my head back, I rocked and thrust my hips forward with such force against the vibrating clippers as Dominique pressed them to my body in just such a way that even through my jeans and my panties the vibrating waves hammered against my clit like a pneumatic drill, I swear I thought I was going to rip the salon chair from its foundations and knock it backwards. Somehow it stood strong though, and I was left screaming, begging, gurgling and yelping with wordless desperation as she pulled it away when I swear to god I was seconds from the most powerful, all consumingly satisfying orgasm of my life. Already the front of my jeans were darkening with my arousal, and that wet spot only continued to grow as I writhed and begged, as I tried to hump against the seat beneath me or do anything to try and push myself over the edge.

"What's your name, baby?"

She whispered to me while I writhed, the sound of the clippers still buzzing violently so close by, louder still now as she pulled off the guard and addressed me once again. Either I'd forgotten that she had already asked, or I didn't care. I answered all the same. Christine.

She giggled. Tutted slightly. Then she pressed her free hand to the top of my head once more and pushed it forward, straightening my neck before abruptly pressing the clippers to the nape of my neck and dragging them upward. The buzzing drew deeper as she sliced through my hair, and as the vibrations coursed through me, even half a body away from my dripping, aching pussy, I swear I barely kept myself from tossing my head back and screaming all over again. Instead I just sat there, perfectly still except for my flexing fingers and toes, and my tail sweeping out through the base of the chair where seat and back-rest separated slightly. I whimpered and gasped as she moved my head around as she required and pressed those intensely sharp blades to the back of my throat over and over again, making my head spin with the sensation as well as the knowledge of my long, luxurious curls being whittled down to... god, I wasn't even looking in the mirror to look at that point, just staring hungrily at her reflection and admiring how beautiful Dominique was even as, or perhaps particularly as she focused on her work.

By the time she was done with my hair, clippers switched out for scissors more than once and then brought back again at a much finer trim level to finish things off, I barely recognised myself. My hair was cut so short on one side it was even shorter than the fur upon the rest of my body, and on the other it swept down in a single, straight sheet of hair that ended in a sharply angled, perfectly cut diagonal with a point protruding out where my bangs had previously ended. I looked like some sort of punk superstar, and in those first few moments of disconnect before I realised I was still looking at myself in the mirror, I was really, really hoping that the punk goddess was going to make me do things to her the way that Dominique had done things to me.

Instead though, she untied me.

She unfastened the bonds holding me to the chair, and left me sitting there, trembling, panting, blushing as she walked to the back of the salon and the single door which rested there. A door which she opened, smiling back at me as she did so, then stepped through, leaving it open behind her.

Of course, I followed.

I walked in there feelings a cool breeze on my bare breasts, feeling the wetness between my legs clinging to the fur on my thighs and the fabric of my panties with every step. I felt the lightness, the absence of my hair, and I felt myself shaking. Shaking not with fear, but with an eager desperation the likes of which I hadn't had cause to feel since... ever. I had never felt so alive. So single minded in my focus, my determination to achieve something. And the crazy thing was, even then, I still had no idea what it was I was there to achieve.

There was a bed in the back room. Well, more like a massage table really. It was comfortable as hell though, and as I found Dominique standing in front of it, as I watched her drop to her knees and begin unfastening my jeans, I was already picturing myself lying upon that table. Soon, naked and whimpering as I felt the gryphon spread my legs so that my ankles were resting against the edge of the table, I was there just as I imagined. And so was she. So was Dominique. Straddling me, leaning over to pull towards us a tray full of... I didn't know at first, it looked like a whole array of combs, brushes, and bottles of coloured liquid. It was only when she leaned over me, taking my hair into one hand and drawing a colour-laced comb through it, I realised what she was doing. It was dye, and she was taking advantage of my white furred form, no bleaching required, to make my transformation complete.

She streaked my hair with cobalt blue and an electric green, switching from a comb to a paint-brush like device and beginning to lavish the fur of my face with little details. A blue diamond on my right cheek. Electric yellow tips to my right ear. She shuffled down, drawing a moan from my lips as she grasped my right breast once again and trailed lines of deep red down it, drawing then all the way down the flank of my figure until the dye simply ran out upon the brush she was holding. I was her canvas, all too willing, all too eager for her to make a masterpiece of my fur. And she did. Not too much. Not too little. Every design thoughtfully placed and yet done so with an urgent, eager, in the moment flare.

I silently begged her to touch my naked body all the while of course, feeling my pussy still aching from her first contact, now all too aware that it was exposed before her presence. I got wet. Wetter. I could feel my arousal running down from my pussy to the lower portion of my buttocks, then out onto the soft table below. Just as she never spoke though, I didn't ask her aloud. I knew her answer by the way she looked at me. By the wordless way she told me what she wanted to do to me, and by the smiles she gave when I oh so gleefully obeyed.

I wanted her to pleasure me. I wanted her to fuck me. To do all sorts of things to me, with me, all over me. I wanted her to take this lesbian virgin and ensure that she never again doubted why she had always found men so... bland, so pointless in their fumblings. Because all my adult life, I had been waiting for her. Not just for a woman, but for this woman.

And she knew it. She knew it from the moment I stepped through the doors of her salon, as she saw the real me hiding inside the outer shell of Christine, begging silently to be freed just as I was begging to be allowed to cum now.

She put down her brushes.

She smiled down at me, placing her hands upon my breasts and beginning to slowly massage them, to knead and tease and stimulate them in a way that made by body quake under hers. She leaned down over me, her eyes locked on mine, her beak resting just over my muzzle, its corners turned upward in that smile which had so bewitched me.

This time, she didn't even have to ask the question.

What's your name, baby?

And this time, she knew I didn't have to answer, though I did.

"Krissy."

She laughed. She nodded. And then she kissed me. Beak to muzzle, the most gentle, tender, yet all consuming kiss of my life.

And then...

I swear, I only went into the salon for directions. But as her fingers pressed into my pussy, homing in on my g-spot like it was the size of Jupiter and drumming her digits against it until I kicked, screamed and squirted all over her hand, I knew that was where I had meant to be going that day. As she pinned me against one wall of that back room and humped me, grinding her pussy, her dress hiked up to reveal not a stitch of underwear beneath it, into my thigh as she teased my clit with a single finger till we were both clutching at each other and wailing in ecstasy, I knew that was where I had meant to be going that day. As she pushed me to the ground and sat on my face, grabbing at a handful of my short hair and telling me exactly how to work my tongue deep inside her before rewarding me with a scream of my name and a face full of the sweetest, most intoxicating ejaculate I'd ever tasted... my own being the only other, I knew that was where I had meant to be going that day.

I worshipped her, and she gave me the honour of letting me do so. I gave her everything I had, everything I was, and she offered herself to me in return, as much and as passionately as I could bear. I had wasted more than ten years of my life on relationships to which I had been forcing myself just to be a part of, but in the space of that first day, that first afternoon even, she made me cum so hard and so often that by the time she left me lying, trembling and shrieking in the salon chair while she went to close and lock the front door, my legs tied once more and a large purple vibrator buzzing violently within my aching pussy, I felt guilty. Gluttonous. Deliciously greedy for how lucky I was, yet still hungry for more even as I watched people stumbling past on the street beyond, blushing and not daring to look at our combined and radiant beauty as they heard my screams ringing out through the glass.

"You'll stay with me tonight, won't you, Krissy, baby?"

She chirped to me as she pulled the toy out and replaced it with her fingers, leaning in to kiss me as she played my g-spot like a musical instrument, drawing out higher and higher notes of sobbing, desperate ecstasy from my strained, strangled throat until I doused her hand with a scream of the most obvious answer in the world.

Yes.

God yes, I'd stay.

And I did.

I am.

I'm staying over. In her apartment, small but beautiful, directly above the salon.

We ordered pizza. She ate me while I ate it, then vice versa.

We took a bath, hot soapy water covering all but our heads, the peaks of our breasts and out legs as they stretched out into the air, bodies writhing, eyes bulging as beneath the water we worked a double ended dildo back and forth between one another.

We cuddled, her showing me all sorts of new styles, treatments and designs she wanted to try out on my hair when it grew in a little more, me blushing, whimpering, cumming as she constantly adjusted the speed and power of the egg vibe buried inside me.

And now, late at night, we lie in her bed. I watch as she kneels before me, stretching one leg up over my body, the other curled beneath it. She talks in a thick, husky groan as she grinds our pussies together with no toys, no assistance whatsoever, just clit to clit, slick, wet lips to lips. Humping. Chirping. Giggling as I moan and writhe, and she tells me how beautiful I am, but how much more she can do for me to make me see that beauty myself. To bring out who I know I truly am, deep down. Not just Krissy. Not just a woman she loves, and a woman who loves her so very, very dearly in return. But... a future partner, maybe. A future stylist, just like her. Ready to change lives with scissors, with dye, with style.

A new look. A new me. But not just for her benefit, and not even for myself. A new me, who can help so many others. Other women just like me, who need more than anything else in this world a chance to discover who they really are.

By Jeeves

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