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The cuckold's hands tremble as he picks up the scissors, his reflection in the mirror showing a man on the brink. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for the degrading task at hand. He runs his fingers through his hair, feeling the length he's grown out for this very moment. With a determined sigh, he begins to cut, each snip echoing in the silence, his heart pounding in his chest. He knows the rules, the ritual his wife has laid out for him. He must be presentable, but not too presentable. He must show his acceptance of his role, his willingness to serve. And so, he cuts, his eyes never leaving his reflection, seeing not a man, but a cuckold preparing for his wife's return.