Destiny Taken (Destiny Lost Book 1)

by Giulia Napoli

  “Sit still, let me finish, and I’ll show you.”

  “You think fucking me will make up for butchering my hair?”

  She stepped back, still standing in front of me, looked directly at me with that same, passionate expression, tilted her head slightly to her right, and simply said, “Yes.”

  I couldn’t believe it! Any of it! I still couldn’t imagine that she’d cut my hair, not even with the braid laying in my lap. I couldn’t believe she’d come on to me or kissed me. And I really couldn’t believe she’d want to have sex with me. She was gorgeous, for God’s sake! And an established, respected archeologist! Yet she wanted me!

  Did I want her? I hadn’t thought about it before; it had never, ever occurred to me. The answer was an unequivocal yes, of course. I was attracted to her – yeah, in that way. I suppose I’d always been, somewhere below the surface of my thoughts. If someone had asked me about it, I would have said that she was as out-of-reach as my favorite movie stars, Leonardo DiCaprio and Charlize Theron.

  If I’d been given a choice, would I have traded my hair to be with her?

  I didn’t know. What difference did that make, anyway? My beautiful, long, shiny, straight, blonde and highlighted hair was history!

  “How are you cutting my hair?” I asked her, no friendliness apparent in my voice.

  “However I want. Short. I want you and I want you with short hair.”

  “Why, Dyana? Why do you want me, but with short hair? I never thought you paid any more attention to me than was necessary for our work to get done.”

  “I guess you’re not as perceptive as you think you are. Cutting your hair is an awesome high for me. Why do I care about how you look? Because you turn me on and I’m an admitted, short-hair lover, when it comes to women. In addition, mostly, I prefer women. That’s why.”

  “What about how I feel?”

  “I guarantee that I’ll make you feel terrific. As far as your hair goes – and it’s pretty much gone - you’ll end up loving it. Give it a couple weeks. Trust me.”

  “TRUST YOU? After what you did without my permission?”

  “Yes. Though one could argue that you told me to cut it to less than two inches long.”

  “I TOLD YOU NO MORE THAN TWO INCHES!”

  “Exactly my point. See ...”

  She was trying to keep from laughing and I was somewhere between joining her and punching her out. She was only about an inch taller than I am. I could take her. Of course, she was holding a scissors, but now it was a small one.

  Instead of swinging at her, I said, “You’re too smart to misinterpret what I said about cutting my hair and you know it.”

  “Okay, I’ll concede that. But you’ve got to admit there’s room for argument.” Now she was laughing outright. I was struggling to stay angry. I reached up for my hair again; I knew that feeling it would refuel my anger. She gently moved my hand down to my lap.

  “Now sit still while I concentrate on this cut. I want it to look great. I know it will, if you’ll stop wiggling around. Did you know I used to cut hair when I was in college and grad school?”

  “No,” I said, my arms now folded across my chest. My body language was pretty clear: I wasn’t interested in what she had to say. At this point, I was resigned to my fate, but pouting. I think the only reason I hadn’t gone ballistic was that I had too much respect for Dyana as a professional. That and those kisses …

  “Cutting hair was a great way to earn money. Besides, I charged those poor – literally poor – students below market rates for a great haircut. It was all under the table too, so I didn’t pay taxes on it. I had plenty of regular customers, and made a decent amount of money doing something I liked.”

  “What, ruining the hair of every woman you screwed?”

  “Everyone looked better when I finished with them, regardless of whether they left right after the cut or sometime later. Honestly though, there weren’t many that I asked to stay. I’m very, very particular when it comes to lovers.”

  “Is that supposed to make me feel special?”

  “I don’t know, but I hope it does. Frankly, I haven’t been with anyone since before we met on our earlier dig. After I saw you, and got to know you, I wasn’t interested in anyone else. I redoubled my efforts to secure this grant. A major motivator for me was the possibility of persuading you to join me. Once you were here, I was planning to be a bit more patient, but when opportunity knocks …”

  “Cutting off two feet of my hair isn’t much of an icebreaker!”

  “Really? I’d say let’s wait and see.”

  She’d been snipping in the back this whole time. Now she combed a bunch of my hair forward and my eyes and face were covered. I instinctively tried to blow it away from my eyes.

  “Hold still, don’t blow. I want your bangs to be perfect.”

  “I DON’T WANT BANGS!”

  I felt the scissors against my left temple and then another snip sound as she cut bangs, well above my eyebrows. I was petrified, and afraid to move, afraid to even move my mouth.

  “They’re too short!” I mumbled through clenched teeth.

  “Hush. They’ll be perfect.” Then she snipped bangs high above my nose. At that moment, I finally realized it was hopeless. She was going to have her way with me. All I could do was resolve to storm back to my cabin, alone, when it was finally over. I thought maybe I’d just leave, and fly back to the States.

  But I suspected I wouldn’t. Was this beautiful, talented professional actually interested in me?

  Wait. I was a professional – and I’d earned it. She’d be the one who would be fortunate to have MY attention.

  Sort of. That said, we did share the same goals and dreams. Wasn’t that what I was looking for in a partner? In a love interest? Wasn’t that a small part of what I’d shared with Tia?

  Did I care Dyana was a woman and not a man?

  No, actually, and I was sure of it. In fact, had a man I knew only as well as Dyana cut my hair this way, I would have called the police and accused him of assault!

  Snip! Now there wasn’t any hair in front of my right eye. Snip, snip, and I had bangs – for the first time in … for the first time! I’d NEVER had bangs before!

  At this point I was either completely resigned to my fate, or enthralled by Dyana; I couldn’t tell you which. The snipping kept happening, and a little or a lot of hair would fall with each snap of the scissors.

  I finally had the presence of mind to ask, “What are you doing to me?”

  “What I want,” Dyana said.

  “How are you cutting my hair,” I asked numbly.

  “Into a short pixie, I think you’d call it,” she told me. “I’m guessing, in the future, it’ll become your signature style.”

  In that, though, she was wrong.

  I felt the scissors snip up and over my left ear. Her fingers were pressed tight against the side of my head as she continued to cut. Little pieces of hair fell into my lap, or blew away because of the breeze on deck.

  On and on it continued. I was pretty sure I would have no hair left and I’d hate how I looked.

  Someone looking at this scene might have said she was claiming me. There would have been much truth to that.

  Did I belong to Dyana now? That was an odd thought. I hadn't been even a little submissive to anyone since Tia, and I'd certainly never been this submissive to anyone. At least, not to anyone I’d known before. But Dyana was like a grown-up Tia - special, sophisticated, beautifully young, and yet mature at the same time. Could I be hers? Would that mean how I was going to look after this haircut would be okay, since she’d chosen it?

  As I said, you could argue she’d laid claim to me by forcing her will on me. Surprisingly, I didn’t react negatively to that idea. Was this her way of affirming ownership of me? Did I want to be owned? I would always have said, “Of course not,” but to be claimed by someone so … so … profound, so desirable …

  She kept cutting, now on the right side. Then
she started shaping my new bangs into an irregular fringe. I could feel the wind blowing over my ears. That was a feeling that I only associated with a ponytail. I didn’t have a ponytail now, however. If I let my hair grow out from when Dyana was done cutting it, I couldn’t have a ponytail for more than eighteen months!

  That was a very long time. I’d read a book called Eighteen Months once. The heroine lived what would be, for most people, an entire lifetime of experiences in that eighteen months.

  Admittedly, it was a very erotic lifetime.

  Truly, I was beginning to realize I might never have a ponytail again.

  Come on, it’s just hair, I told myself. As a hairstyle, ponytails are pretty awful – at best, they’re vanilla. Why are you letting this get to you, Destiny? You’re stronger than that. Besides, you have an opportunity to screw your boss! I chuckled out loud at that thought.

  Now it was Dyana’s turn to ask, “What?”

  “Nothing.” I said.

  “Almost done,” she acknowledged, but the cutting continued, unabated. I was pretty sure I’d already lost 95 percent of my hair. That’s astronomical to a young woman like me. I reached up to touch what was left of my lovely hair. Dyana gently slapped my hand away.

  “Be patient,” she said. “You don’t want to touch it; you want to see it. We have to go to my quarters so I can finish this properly with the electric trimmer I have there.”

  “Absolutely not!” I shouted.

  “You don’t want to go to my quarters?” She said, innocently.

  “I don’t want you anywhere near me with electric trimmers.”

  “Give it a rest. You don’t have any hair left to speak of anyway. Your hair’s a lot shorter than mine is.”

  “Then I’ll use the trimmers on you!”

  “Maybe … we’ll see what happens.”

  She kept trimming, cutting over one ear then the other, going up the back and the sides with comb and scissors. She was moving rapidly. I was getting scared again.

  “Okay,” she said finally, “let’s go to my place. Don’t touch your hair yet!” She threw her tools in the bag, pulled me up by my wrist, and pushed me ahead of her, her hand flat on my butt. I reached up to feel my hair again and she yelled, “Not yet! Leave it alone.”

  My head already felt MUCH lighter and I could feel wind in places it had never touched before. There was nothing hanging down onto my back anymore, nothing even close to my shoulders. In fact, I was sure no hair was hanging down anywhere.

  We arrived at her quarters in less than a minute, and went inside as she closed and locked the door.

  Chapter 4 – This Girl Is a Woman Now

  “Take off all your clothes, so I can finish you and brush you off. Then you can see how great you look.” Dyana started to strip without a moment’s hesitation.

  Her cabin was pretty roomy, and even had a double bed along the wall of the starboard side of the ship. I removed my clothes as requested. They were, after all, peppered with long, medium, and short pieces of hair. I realized I was still holding my braid, and set it down on her desk. There was no mirror evident so I couldn’t yet see myself. I was standing there in my panties – I hadn’t worn a bra – and Dyana said, “Panties too. I want to see all of you.”

  In a moment, we faced each other, both of us naked. Dyana and I were equally hairless below the neck, meaning that she had no hair on her body at all, just like me. I’d been lasered, lasered again, and finally lasered as a high-school graduation present from my parents, who’d agreed to my request with raised eyebrows and only after an admonishment from me to “realize this is the twenty-first century; I am not a cavewoman.”

  Dyana’s hand pressed against my hairless pussy and she whispered, “This is exactly how I imagined you’d feel.”

  Instinctively, I reached up to touch my now vanished long hair again, and she said, “Don’t. Wait. Sit here,” and she pulled out a desk chair and motioned for me to sit on it.

  Thirty minutes ago, I would have had to flip my hair out, over the back of the chair, to avoid pulling on it when I sat forward. Not now, though I did start to flip it instinctively. Given her admonishment to keep my hands away from my hair, I sat down on my hands. In spite of my continued angst, I said nothing. She took a small, cordless electric trimmer out of her bag and approached me from behind. She pushed my head forward and told me to sit still.

  There was nothing else to do. I did as requested. I heard a snap, then a buzz as she turned the clippers on and approached me from behind.

  I felt the totally new experience of cold blades on my neck and then she swept them up into my hairline. “I want to taper this at your hairline, so it looks smooth, not cut straight across. I prefer that look for you.” She kept sweeping the clippers from below my hairline up into my hair to taper it from however long it was in the back, to essentially nothing at my hairline. Then she ran it up the back sides a little to taper it there, and over my ears to get any strays. Finally, she tapered what must have now become my sideburns.

  “I want you to have a precise, tapered look - not anything wispy,” she said. “Wispy is for sissies.”

  “You’re making me butch,” I accused her.

  “Not even a little. You’re too sweet to actually be butch.”

  She finally stopped. “Wash off in my shower stall and then I’ll check your cut and finish styling it – not that that will take much doing. You’re gonna love how you look and how easy this is.”

  “There is no chance that I’m gonna like how I look.”

  “Keep an open mind, Destiny. Now go shower.”

  I turned on the meager water from the showerhead – this was a frigate after all, not a luxury liner – and stepped in. I put my head under the spray, reached up to rub the water through it to get it wet, and almost fainted on the spot. MY HAIR WAS GONE! ALMOST ALL OF MY HAIR WAS GONE! I couldn’t believe how my head felt – tiny and … and … and … almost naked!

  “You bastard!” I yelled at Dyana. “You bastard! You took all my hair!”

  ”You have plenty left. Hurry up and I’ll show you. You’ll love it!”

  “I AM GOING TO KILL YOU WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE!”

  “If you don’t cool down, I’ll turn off your hot water,” she called out, humor in her voice. I found nothing funny in what she’d done to me.

  I squirted shampoo in my hand, smeared it on my newly-shorn head, and realized I had about five times too much for my hair length and ended up with foam and suds all over the place. I was standing in a pile of bubbly foam. There were too many suds to go down the drain. I managed to rinse my hair and wash my body quickly and got out of the tight confines of the shower stall, leaving bubbles a foot deep in it.

  Dyana was standing there holding a towel for me. “I wanted you to shower, not take a bubble bath,” she laughed.

  “I don’t have enough hair for the shampoo I used! And it’s your damn fault!”

  “Sit down and stop complaining.”

  I sat; she combed through my hair. She clipped it in a few spots and then put some gel or something in her hands, rubbed them together, and worked it through the little that was left of my hair. She roughly combed it over from left to right with her fingers, including my bangs, though she then flipped a few wisps of them onto my forehead. Then she pronounced me done, opened a small closet door, and stood me in front of the mirror on the inside of it.

  I gasped and started to cry. I didn’t look bad – not at all – in fact, it was really cute and I looked pretty. But it wasn’t me! My hair, my beautiful, long, long hair was now just a little pixie cut with rather severe sides and back! I’d completely lost that young, innocent, makes-your-heart-jump-with-yearning-to-look-at-me appearance. I was pretty, not beautiful anymore.

  “You look fantastic!” Dyana said. “I knew you would!”

  “THIS ISN’T ME! I don’t look like me at all!”

  “It’s you now and you’re gonna love it! Really, you are!” She gently took my shoulders and turned
me away from the mirror and towards her. Then she gave me one of the most passionate kisses I’d ever received from anyone - woman or man. No. The. Most. Passionate. Kiss. EVER!

  I kissed her back, tears still coming from my eyes and running down my cheeks. At least my body kissed her back. The me inside was in a panic about how I looked; I was being sexually stimulated by a master and my mind didn’t know where to focus. I opened my moist eyes to look into Dyana’s already opened ones. She had short hair, I thought – though nowhere near as short as mine – and I considered her drop-dead beautiful.

  No. It wasn’t having short hair that was the problem, I realized. It wasn’t even that a woman infatuated with me had cut it without my permission. It was losing long hair to get to where I was now that was the problem. My thoughts kept bouncing between wanting to kiss Dyana and focus on her body against mine, and dwelling on what she’d just done to me.

  In the end, my physical attraction to Dyana, and hers to me, won out. In a few minutes we were rolling on the bed, still in each other’s arms. Somewhere deep in my mind, I realized that this friendly, sexy wrestling would have been impossible with my long hair wrapping around us and getting caught under us. The thought lasted a fleeting fraction of a second at most, then my long hair was forgotten in the passion that continued to build around us.

  I’d accepted that I was bi-sexual over the space of only a couple weeks with Tia. Dyana absolutely cemented that realization in my mind. I was the “B” in LGBT. I was gladly that person.

  Dyana ended up on top of me with her left hand behind my head, pressing my head up and our lips against each other. Her right hand was under me at the small of my back, pushing our pussies together. Our tongues flickered frantically within each other’s mouths. Finally, she paused for a moment and pulled back to look at me.

  We stared into each other’s eyes. “I should be on top,” I said, panting. The inside of my mouth and my lips were still tingling from her exquisite kisses.

  “Why?” She asked.

  “Because you made me more butch than you are.”