0 comments/ 39383 views/ 1 favorites Salon Selectives Ch. 01 By: the_thinker97 "How did I get myself into this mess" I ask myself as I change the water again. I had no idea a beauty parlor could get this dirty. "When you're finished the windows, you can wipe down and disinfect the tanning bed." Susan barked from the other room. "Shore ting Bozz" I answer. "I don't need any of your smartass back-talk either." Susan retorted. She was trying to sound dictatorial, but I could hear the smile in her voice. "Yazz Bozz." I answer back with just as big a smile. It all started off so innocently. A bet. Some trivia question. I never lose at trivia. The actor that was playing the wounded cop on "E.R.," was he known before as a cop on "Adam 12," or as one of the paramedics on "Emergency?" In my mind I can still see him in the cop's uniform. I was wrong. Damn. I hate it when that happens. I like to bet although I never bet money. My father taught me never to bet something you can't afford to lose. When I worked in a mine I would see other miners playing poker for pay checks. I knew that most of the miners had wives and families and that some of them would have to go home to tell their families that "daddy didn't get paid today. I use to bet with my brothers. The loser had to make the winners bed. Raising the stakes meant the loser had to do the winners chore, sometimes for a whole week if we were feeling particularly lucky. Big stakes were usually never wasted on games of chance, but were reserved for tests of abilities like golf, chess, or higher averages in school. At my office I would bet "batches of cookies" with my coworkers. There again, I seldom lost. I had a reputation of providing the most cookies and brownies and cheesecake at the office. I always had the goodies brought to the office and I would put them on the table for all to enjoy. It got to the point that whenever any food arrived for mass consumption everyone would ask around to see what the wager was and who my latest victim was. I had bet with Susan before too. She was an old friend and didn't work at my office. Instead, Susan was the proprietor of an fairly upscale beauty Salon/Spa. Instead of baking, we used to bet services. I had won my share of haircuts and remember wondering what else she had to offer that I could take advantage of. Hers' was a full service salon but there was an unwritten rule that stated that any payment of debts had to be payable by the actual person doing the betting. Services provided by an employee were not acceptable methods of payment. Most of the other services offered by the salon where also not things usually associated with the male gender; as a rule "we" don't much go in for eyebrow plucking or dye jobs. "Slave for a day." That's what Susan had suggested. "Anything the winner said... 24 hours... no questions asked... done to the letter!" Unusually high stakes for her. My immediate response was to contemplate how I would spend my winnings. What could I have her do for a day? Let's see... she could be my chauffeur and have to drive me to wherever I wanted to go... better yet, myself and a date. Drop us off in front of the restaurant. Pick us up in front... no fighting for parking stalls or walking for blocks in the rain. What about a nice little romantic dinner at home for me and my date... with a waitress to serve us our every course... and to clean up the dishes... and to cook. I could just imagine it... "Maid... you may now clear away the dishes." "Yes sir." She would answer. "Yes sir..." "No sir..." "As you wish sir..." Ahhh... it would be great. "Done!" I answered, snapping back to reality. "Slave for a day." Well, today is that day and it's "me" who's washing windows, cleaning out the toilets and wiping down the tanning bed. We had agreed on having a Sunday as the payoff day and she had phoned me at home Saturday night to tell me to show up at her salon bright and early (6:00 am) the next morning. "Wear loose cloths" was the only other thing she had said. I had to wait till 6:30 before she arrived and she immediately sent me to get her a cup of coffee at the local Donut shop down the street. When I returned with the coffee, she politely but firmly informed me that I had been late and, since I had not followed her instructions "to the letter," it would cost me "big-time." When I protested that I was here waiting before she got here, she showed me the tape from her security camera, complete with time stamp, showing me arriving and trying to enter the locked front door. The time stamp was unmistakably 3 min. after 6:00. What could I say? "You may start with the floors." She had said curtly. All morning she sat in the center of the salon in one of the hydraulic chairs barking out orders and reading. "Change the CD!" "The window cleaner is under the sink." "You missed a spot on the floor." "The CD needs changing." All the time she sat there smiling and revelling in the experience. I could see she was enjoying the power. "Don't get used to it," I said under my breath, "from now on, the gloves are off" She never asked me to do anything I might not have asked her to do but she was ruthless in her requests. "Just getting even for all the times she lost." I told myself. When I was on my knees waxing the floor right under her she playfully stretched out her legs and rested them on my back, as if I was her footstool. I looked up and saw such a smirk that I had to break out laughing. "Silence slave!" She said in mock disapproval. Susan was a very astute business person, having taken over an older, established salon and, after renovations and a name change, turning it into "the" happening place in the city. She had made a lot of money from the salon but never flaunted it. She still drove her same 1997 Jeep Wrangler with the winch in the front and the dent in the passenger side fender. She dressed nicely but never for show, sometimes coming to work in jeans and a suit jacket. She had a way of making whatever she wore look right out of Vogue. Susan was early thirties, about 5'4" and maybe 130 pounds although she looked much smaller. She worked out almost everyday in the gym across the street and had recently taken up the sport of body sculpting, so most of her 130 pounds was pure muscle. Her hair was long, coming down below the back pocket of her jeans and at the moment was a rich red. "One of the duties of a salon owner is to advertise your services." She had once said to me after I commented on her then newly blackened hair. It occurred to me that I never knew what her natural hair colour was, having seen it almost every color there was. I was kept busy all morning cleaning, waxing, deodorizing, sweeping. By 12:30 she was having trouble finding things for me to clean. You could eat off the floor and I was particularly pleased with the staff room. As clean as any establishment is out front, the back is usually paid the least amount of attention by the regular cleaning staff. "Slave..." (since she first arrived she never called me by name) "Get yourself cleaned up. I want you to run an errand for me." I had a quick shower to clean off the sweat from the mornings activities. When I went to get my clothes I found my sweats gone and in their stead, a new set of thin white cotton pants and a white tee-shirt. I laughed to myself at the efforts Susan was going to remind me of my status, but in the back of my mind I pondered the fact that she had been in the room while I was showering. It seemed odd that she would do that. The errand, I was later to find out, was to run to a local restaurant for some take out. Not just "a" restaurant but "the" restaurant. It was owned by a friend of hers and the place usually didn't open this early on a Sunday. But all it took was one quick phone call from Susan and I was picking up arguably some of the best Calamari in the western hemisphere. I wondered if Susan had this arranged with the restaurant before hand; she seems to have everything else arranged. Anyway, on my return Susan is still in her hydraulic chair, lying back listening to the stereo. She almost looks asleep. "There slave!" She says sitting up and pointing to the coffee table in the waiting room. I unpack the food and fetch a couple of plates from the staff room. She informs me she would like a glass of white wine and that there is a small bottle in the refrigerator. "A little early isn't it?" I ask. "When I want your opinion I'll give it to you!" she returns. We have a quiet lunch together, her luxuriating on the couch and me sitting on the floor. Both of us were having a hard time not laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation but it's not my place to speak and she would never lower herself to speak idle conversation to a mere servant. Without a word, she motions for me to clean up the plates with a flick of her wrist and saunters into the back rooms. "We'll start with a steam" I am informed. "Pardon?" I ask. "A steam..." she says, "you do know what a steam is don't you?" "Yes but..." "Good" That was that. She moves to the steam area with me trailing behind. "Towels are in the cupboard, scented oils are in the drawer." I jump for everything she asks for and follow her into the dry room with my hands full. She raises her arms above her head and stands there. "Well..." she demands with a shocked look. "What?" I still don't understand. "Undress me, slave" After a moment's hesitation, I hop to it almost stumbling over myself and dropping the encumbrances in my arms. Her dress, being a wrap-around, comes off easily. She is not wearing any panties. Blonde. I finally found out her natural hair color. She still stands there with her arms raised even though she is completely naked. She has an most perfect body and, standing here naked, all the time spent in the gym becomes very evident. Her entire body is lean, muscular, and seems to radiate strength and confidence. Each individual muscle group is highly defined and she has the abs of a weight lifter. Her skin has an almost flawless tan... not very dark but very even and almost all over. The only thing to suggest that it is a tan and not her normal skin tone is a very strong patch of white that proves she only wears bikini bottoms, and even then, one could almost not call them bikini bottoms. A "G" string might be another word for it although there is no tan line from the string. Curious. Her breasts are not overly large but perfectly formed and perfectly matched and I couldn't help but notice that her nipples where standing erect. I have to force myself not to stare and am only partially successful. My quizzical look brings a flick of her head in the direction of the towels. At last understanding, I grab a towel and wrap it around her body. She enters the steam and motions me to join her. It seems you never know when a slave might come in handy in a steam bath. We spent the next four hours playing out a charade of master/slave in some ancient Egyptian or Roman bathhouse. I am forced to stand in the steam fully dressed sprinkling cool water on her face while she lounges on the top shelf. I must kneel and gently massage her face and scalp as she relaxes in the warm mud bath. I sit in the corner and read aloud from Story of 'O' while she utilizes the tanning bed. I am even tutored in the fine art of giving the perfect pedicure. All the time she is either naked or wearing nothing but a towel. After the steam I must pat her entire body dry. After the mud bath I must hose her off with a warm hand shower. Before the tanning bed I am forced to lather her entire body with a moisturizing cream. During the pedicure she sits in front of me with one leg at a time up on my lap and the other soaking in warm water. She saved the massage for the end. I start the massage with the shoulders and back moving slowly down the spine. My fingers working gently at first then, little by little, with increased pressure. Her body feels so smooth and warm beneath my hands. Slowly, ever so slowly I work my way down. The buttocks, the top of the leg, behind the knee, the calve, and finally, the foot. I massage the soul and gently run my fingers between each toe. Her leg twitches. She must be a little ticklish. I ask if she wants a towel or blanket for her back but she refuses. I run my hands the full length of her leg, one on the outside and one on the inside of her thigh. A slight moan escapes her lips. I again move up to her buttocks and down the other leg. I can feel each individual muscle of her body. I use a little more warmed and scented oil, this time pouring it directly onto her backside. It puddles in the small of her back and begins to run. My hands trace the path and catch most of it. She moans again and rocks her hips a little. I pour a little more across the top of her ass and let it slowly run down the crack of her ass. I am chastised for this little act of rebellion, but the defiant streak in me would do it again if given the opportunity. I continue the massage down the other leg repeating the same procedure as on the first one. Her body has begun to rock constantly now, almost imperceptibly, her fingers stretching and relaxing, stretching and relaxing. As I work on the top of the leg, her hand that has been dangling over the edge of the table brushes against my knee. I was sure it was an accident until, a few moments later; I feel it making circles behind my own knee. The entire energy level in the room seems to change. It is nothing that you could see, but it is very evident nonetheless. I finish her back. She turns over and the whole thing starts again this time from the bottom up. My hands cover her entire body. Roaming freely, they massage the legs, the inside of the thigh, the inside of the arms, the elbow, the hands, the face the stomach, everything. Her body is rocking freely now and the moaning is more regular. She must be really enjoying this. For this entire process so far I've been careful not to touch anything that wouldn't be part of a normal massage. But as I massage her chest, the massage ever so slightly becomes a caress. I move from a penetrating massage of her pectoral muscles, to a "less penetrating" caress up the sides of her breasts. I'm still careful not to touch the nipple. Her legs spread just a little more. Finally, I bend down and take a nipple between my lips. That's when all hell breaks loose. Her hands grab my head and forcibly direct my face toward the one part of her body still untouched; a little tiny pleasure dome. Her back arches and her legs spread wide to allow me access. She is almost growling as she orders me to please her with my tongue. As with the original massage, I begin slowly, teasingly. First light, playful kisses, then deeper and harder strokes, finally my tongue is licking and lapping and exploring with an insistent rhythm. I reach up one hand to caress an aching nipple and from her motions I sense that the moment is close. I begin to suck and lick, and lick and caress with my tongue, my nose, my chin, with anything I can. I love the smell, the taste, the feel. I gently take the clitoris on my mouth and between my teeth. It is almost throbbing. Her arms are flailing and she reaches one hand down to pull at her own pubic hair, trying to give me more access. I place my whole mouth over the clitoris and create a miniature vacuum. I breathe my hot breath on her hot box. I insert my tongue as deep into her as I can and use my nose to massage the hooded button. She is moaning and screaming constantly now. The bucking of her hips makes it hard to keep my mouth in the right spot. My free hand reaches under her hips to caress her ass. I trace the line of the crack. I play with the anus. My tongue still working. She is very close to orgasm. Her hands reach out, undo the string holding up my pants and start to pull at the material. Her one hand is rubbing my hard cock through the thin material. I insert one finger into her anus and my thumb into her cunt. I can almost rub them together inside of her. She is very VERY close. I take her clit between my lips again and start to hum. The explosion begins between her legs and spreads throughout her entire body -- her back arches, and she cries out in ecstasy. I can feel the orgasm that rocks her being -- through my hands, through my tongue, through the pungent, musky wetness that spreads over my chin. I feel the contractions of her vagina as it tries to grab and hold my thumb. I keep up the rhythm as wave after wave washes over her until it is nothing but ripples. I try to bring her back gently -- my caresses slowing, becoming softer, sweeter -- but she will have nothing of it. Satiated... but not "satisfied," there still is an urgency about her... an itch... a "wanting." She reaches down and pulls my face up to hers. "I want you in me!" she says in a husky voice before burying her tongue down my throat. I lift her legs and swing between them; all without breaking contact with her delicious lips. She lays back a bit, semi-prone on the table supported by her elbows with her legs on my shoulders and me standing beside the table. I enter her moist box. My hands grab her hips to help guide and control. I begin to stroke... slowly at first... then faster and faster. She throws her head back and begins to scream again, so much so that I wonder if she will cum again. I stop... and just hold it deep within her. I can feel her contracting and releasing. I do the same. We laugh at each other, the master/slave persona completely gone now. She leans forward and gently kisses the end of my nose, my cheek, my eye. She has such soft lips. I pull out slowly once and pound it in hard. The gasp that escapes her lips is barely perceptible. I do it again. "What are you doing?" she asks with a quizzical look. "Nothing." I answer with a sly smile of my own. "I like that." She says. "What?" "The way you slam into me. I like it when you give it to me hard like that." I pull it right out and she quickly grabs it and reinserts it into her inviting tunnel. "Don't you dare!" She demands jumping back into her roll with a show of disapproval. Her smile lights up the entire room. I push it in again... 3 times in quick succession. Her legs slide down my arms and grab me around the waist. She is pulling me closer... her heals digging into my back... her legs spreading wider and at the same time holding me tighter. I begin to stroke again, this time making my inward thrusts deep and hard and my outward strokes slow and deliberate. She is guiding me with her legs, squeezing me. I begin to pound again; the sound of our bodies impacting is such a turn-on. I thrust faster, deeper, harder. She matches my every stroke. God this feels good. She grits her teeth and pulls me still deeper with her legs. She is grunting and biting her lip, her hands pulling at my hair. My cock continues to reach deeper and deeper with each stroke. I feel myself hitting bottom and every time I do she gasps and opens her eyes wide as if shocked with electricity. Whatever shock she is experiencing is going right through me too. The feeling is exquisite. I thrust now not because I want too, but because I have too. It feels sooooooo gooooooood. I never want this to end. And jJust when I think I could do this forever, I know I can't. I slow down trying to extent the sensation. She tells me not to stop and just to add emphasis, reaches up with one hand and pinches my nipple. That does it. I pass the point of no return and begin again to do the best I can at trying to jam my whole body into that one exquisite hole. My arms pulling harder, my hips pushing faster, my cock reaching deeper, my mind trying unsuccessfully to outrun the rushing wave that begins to build, then break, then finally wash over my entire being. I collapse on her and for a few minutes, neither one of us moves. We are bathed in sweat. When she does finally speak it's to return to her mock master role. (We can both hardly move and she's giving orders again?) I must tidy up the salon again because she has more plans. Salon Selectives Ch. 01 To my questioning look she replies, "Do you remember my telling you that you where late and it was going to cost you big time?" "Yes..." I answer. Well... I've sold your contract! WHAT!!! (to be continued) Salon Selectives Ch. 02 Well... I've sold your contract! WHAT!!! I've sold your contract. Remember, the bet was for 24 hours, anything asked for, no questions, done to the letter. I've sold your contract so I want you to obey your new owner just as you would me. If you don't, I'll hear about it and this whole day will be null and void and you will still owe me a day. Now before I say anymore you will go clean yourself up and finish tiding this place again. Her smile lights up her whole face. I'm a little uncomfortable with this unknown factor and while I am thinking about it, I finish cleaning the dishes from dinner, but the towels in the wash, wipe down the massage table again and but the oils back where they belong. I then step in and have another quick shower. Amazing how a little light cleaning works up a sweat isn't it. This definitely wasn't part of the original deal. Although it wasn't expressly stated that it could not be done, the implied wager was anything SHE requested. I start to think about my relationship with Susan and wonder exactly how much trust we have with one another. We've been friends for years. I'm sure she wouldn't jeopardize that over a simple little trivia contest. But still... this is Susan we're talking about. When I'm finished and dressed in my sweats again (which have, in the mean time, been washed and dried), I emerge to find Susan gone and her chair occupied by another woman I've never met before. She's drop dead gorgeous. Tall, taller than me, also with red hair but again I'm not sure it is her real hair color. She speaks very decisively but I still get the feeling she has never had a slave before and just doesn't quite know how to handle it. She's almost, uncomfortable. It slowly dawns on me that I am too. I'm not use to NOT looking down when talking to a woman and the feeling is a little disquieting. I'm about to ask what it is she wants but decide not to. I'm a slave remember. I stand quietly and wait to see where this is all going. She sits. She starts to talk but doesn't. She starts again. Again she changes her mind. Panic sets in. Hmm... how to exploit this to my best advantage??? "Look," she finally says walking toward me, "I'm enrolled in this beauty school course and... well I came in from out of town to attend so I don't know anybody here and... you see I asked Susan for a job. I said I would work for free for a while just to get experience because I was having a hard time finding people to practice on. She said she couldn't hire me until after I pass the course but she said she could help with the finding people to practice on part. Does this make any sense to you?" I nod. I contemplate using my god given ability to bull-shit my way out, but out of the corner of my eye I catch a glimpse of the red light from the security camera and I know if I do Susan will know. It's not that I'm afraid of the Susan... and if fact I could just walk away and nothing much would be said. I did give her almost my entire day and I worked like a dog cleaning up this place. Susan certainly has nothing to complain about. I might take some good natured ribbing but it would eventually blow over. I have to admit too that it wasn't all "work." O.K. what about this new situation. The woman has come down here ready and expecting to go to work. If I walk out now it will sure make Susan look foolish. And, what-the-hey, it's only a hair cut, right? I'm sure if this woman screws it up too bad, Susan will make it right tomorrow. "It is far to complicated for a simple slave like me to understand." I say jumping back into character. "I am here to do whatever the master asks." I bow my head and look at the floor. Submitting to Susan was one thing, she and I are friends and we both know the circumstances, but I don't know this other person from Adam and playing the slave to her feels very uncomfortable. A smile crosses her face. No... it's more a sigh of relief. This must have been a real problem for her. I recognize that this is a person in need and I am in a position to help. I would have helped her even if I was not under this obligation to Susan. Funny how our society has deemed it inappropriate to ask for help from a stranger. A little raise of the eyebrow asks what she wants of me. I am still a slave after all and really can't be making assumptions. I have to wait till she tells me what to do. "Oh... um... right... let's start with the hair. Why don't you have a seat in the..." She stops. Pauses. "Sit here" she tentatively demands pointing to one of the chairs beside the wash basin. It will take her a while to get used to using her authority. I sit. Since I just had a shower, my hair is still wet. She starts to wash my hair then realizes she doesn't need to. She changes her mind about what her next step is and I think she is a little embarrassed. Watching her internal conflict is kind of funny and I try not to smile too much. "Go sit over there." she says pointing to one of the hydraulic chairs. It takes a while but she eventually starts to relax. The hair cut is one of the longest hair cuts I have ever had but in the end I have to admit, it seems like a good one. The time and effort put into it make the difference. She does not have another customer waiting so is free to work until she is happy with it. There are no production quotas hampering her creativity and it pays off. Pleased with the success of the haircut she becomes more sure of herself. "Let's do the facial now, O.K." It was a question but there was no question in her voice. I'm taken aback a little. Facial...? I was under the impression it was just to be a hair cut. Guys don't have facials... do they? More of "society's" rules. As much as I've rebelled against them all my life I still recognize their influence on me. I laugh at "Tim, the Tool-man, Taylor" and tell myself that I'm not like that but I have to admit that it's all a matter of degrees. I think she sees the hesitation in me and, although she technically doesn't have to, she softens. She tells me that many guys are having facials now. "Look... I promise I won't tell anyone." she says. How could I resist? Her eyes are so... so... they remind me of those pictures of lost puppies in the rain soaked alleys with the big eyes. The facial is going to be tricky because I have this "Miami Vice" three-day growth. "We'll have to lose the beard." she says. I know it sounds cliché but I actually think the words "be gentle with me" and realizing this, almost break out laughing at myself. I have never had anyone shave me before. It's a very different experience and somehow... erotic. As I sit there being shaved I have to fight the urge to rest my hand on her hip. She is concentrating so hard on her task that I don't think she would have even noticed. Her face is so close to mine I can feel her breath on my neck. I try to relax and enjoy the experience. "I've never actually shaved anyone before" she confesses after it's over. "Salons never get a call for that anymore. The only hair removal we do now is reduced to simple waxing." I rub my chin and agree that it's not bad. Better than the job I do myself when I'm in a hurry. The beard will grow back fairly quickly but I'll miss the moustache. With each completed task her confidence increases and she begins to assume more and more the master role. I actually think she's starting to enjoy this. In the middle of the facial she stops and demands that I remove my shirt. Once I agreed to go along with the charade I was committed to playing it out in its entirety. I remove my shirt. As soon as I did, the whole mood changes. She becomes very playful. She begins to taunt me with what she could make me do if she wanted. I try to remain cool and show no emotion but inside my senses are jumping. The facial was very different and consisted of various creams and gels to do various jobs, opening pores, closing pores, cleansing pores, removing dead skin, and each substance has to be massaged in. It can't be just applied. You have to increase blood flow or something like that. I had my eyebrows plucked, my ears rubbed, my zits squeezed, and before I realized it, I was having makeup applied. I never knew where the facial ended and the... the... (what do they call it?)... "makeup application thingy" began. Several times she would seem unsatisfied with the finished product then remove it all and start over. I am not accustomed to all this attention being given to me and, somehow really begin to enjoy it. The chair I'm in is reclined to a very low angle and to make it easier for her I move my arm, allowing her to move inside and closer to her work. I'm now faced with the problem of trying to decide what to do with my arm. I finally do decide to rest my hand on her hip. The electricity in the air is tangible. After a few minutes she slips out of her shoes and sits across my lap as she continues to work. I am definitely becoming aroused. Her hands are so soft and gentle and her smell is... aaaahhhhhh... heaven. I open my eyes and see her breasts lightly bouncing almost right in front of my face. Just a thin layer of cloth away. Seeming satisfied with this latest attempt she sits back and admires her work, and in the process, presses herself against my stiffing shaft. She makes no notice. Smiling at her work, she stands and, still straddling my body cleans off the makeup with cold cream or some other makeup remover. Her smile is almost constant now and I sense some question she has been struggling with has just been decided. I soon find out exactly what that decision is. She moves off me and in doing so, grinds herself into me. She looks right at me as she does it and I know it was done on purpose. She strolls barefooted over to the cupboard, opens it, removes a wrapped package of some kind and returns. "Put this on" she orders. I take the package and open it. It's a pair of black, one-size-fits-all, single use, disposable bikini briefs. She answers my quizzical expression with another question. "I can't very well wax your legs when you're wearing pants now can I? These are normally supplied for just this purpose." I look around not knowing what to do and she simply states, "You may do it here. I will, "avert," my eyes." She turns her back as I change and as I pull up the shorts ("shorts" is an overstatement. Thong, I think, is what they call this) I see her watching me in the mirror, a mischievous grin dancing around her eyes. The "shorts" are definitely short and I can see that my "arising condition" could begin to be a problem. "Sorry about that" she smiles. "Not many men ever get a bikini line waxing." She must have seen the look of terror on my face and replies with a "Relax... we'll just do the legs... and I promise to be gentle." She starts with the calves, first one leg then the other. This, I'm sure, she has done before because she works with such efficiency and care I hardly feel any pain. I said hardly. There is an order and procedure and everything has a purpose. First the power, then the wax, gently warmed, then the strip, applied in one direction and pulled off in another. Finally a cream of some sort designed to ease the burning. A most efficient process and in the hands of an expert, I am quickly becoming hairless which, I might add, is another unique experience. It's really not as bad as the description might suggest and I give no protest when, after finishing my legs, she moves up to wax my chest. She eventually does cleanse me of some bothersome hair around the outsides of my ears and the back of my neck. You know... hair too far down and not thick enough to be counted in a regular haircut. When she starts to wax the line of hair going from my navel down I begin to question her motives and when it becomes obvious she intends to complete the bikini line I am too far gone to protest. The entire process leaves my skin so sensitive and tingly the slightest touch, or breath, feels exquisite. She plays it to the hilt and I know I'm in the hands of an expert. My rising condition becomes obvious and she makes no effort NOT to brush up against "it" in the execution of the task. She is very gentle and soon the garment does very little to conceal anything. "Turn over" she whispers. "I need to see if I missed anything." After clearing any hair at the top of my legs she continues up and completes the entire back. Back, hips, buttocks, everything. To do that the G-string (right - the other word for it) was in the way so with a few quick snips from some scissors lying nearby they are removed. I now have no hair below my head save a little triangle in the pubic area. My entire body is tingling from head to foot. I am so turned on I literally can't stand it. With both of us looking down at my pubic area I simply say that she might as well complete the job. All pretence of master/slave are gone now although she is still definitely in control. This whole evening has been one of intense sensual experiences and one that most people never let themselves enjoy. She completes the task. The scrotum was a bit of a challenge, owing to the looseness of the skin but still nothing she could not handle. And handle them she did. I'm sure she didn't need to work as hard as she appeared to be working and that most of it was done for her own enjoyment. She didn't need to massage the cream in quite so long either but she did. There where many things that she didn't need to do then but she did anyway. Taking my cock in her mouth was one of them. I can do nothing but lay back and enjoy. I couldn't stand now if I wanted to, my legs feeling as weak as they do. With my cock in her mouth her hands are free to wander. I can't believe how sensitive my entire body is. I don't know if it's just the waxing or if it's her. My cock is so stiff it hurts. She swallows it all. I'm just about to shoot my wad right then and there but she changes her technique and I am able to last, for a little longer anyway. My senses are so strong and attuned to this experience I feel light headed. Without missing a beat she is able to remove her panties with one hand and swing one leg over my body. Her muff is right over my face now, although technically "muff is incorrect. I still don't know her natural hair color because she also is completely bald. I drink in the intoxicating aroma or her. With my tongue beginning to explore her wet opening my hands do a little exploring of their own. The entire scene is one of indescribable sensuality. Man was given six senses and right now every one of them is focused and heightened. She hooks her arms behind my legs and stands more erect still sucking and licking my entire pubic area. My knees are drawn up close to my own ears. With her feet on the floor she is able to control where I can lick and suck by rocking her hips to the desired spot. With my legs up, she has complete control and access to my entire body. She begins to play with my anus and the deep crack leading up to its opening. I have never had anyone do this to me before and the effect is... is... is even more indescribable than the last indescribable thing she did. My hands find her breasts under her dress and she shudders as I caress them, her nipples are standing very erect now. It's good to know I can exert my own effects on the situation. After a few minutes of this... this... heaven, she begins to probe my opening, gently persuading the sphincter muscle to relax. Little by little she is able to insert a finger, very shallow at first, then deeper, finally she buries it right to the hand. She withdraws it and inserts two fingers. She has one hand in my ass, the other stroking my cock, my balls in her mouth, and her cunt covering my mouth. The only thing I have control of is my hands but every time I release her breasts to go exploring she moans in obvious discomfort so I am obliged to continue there also. This is like nothing I have ever experienced and it seems to go on forever. With reduced contact to the sensitive area of my cock there is reduced danger of my cumming. It feels so wonderful I never want it to end. Her juices flow freely and begin to run down my cheek and into my ear. With her fingers playing inside my body there is a kind of emotional high and a closeness I didn't even know existed. She withdraws her fingers and plunges them in again. Deeper, faster, harder. I am being fucked and I love it. I leave one hand pinching and twisting her nipples and move the other hand to return the favor. She obviously likes this too... a lot. My tongue is still exploring everything within reach. I stick it in as deep as I can and suck as hard as I dare. She starts to buck and for the first time I begin to feel some sense of control shifting to me. Her sucking and hand movements begin to slow as she gives herself over to my talents. I hear a groan starting deep within her and slowly moving up to escape her lips. I reach over, grab a hair brush from nearby and gently insert the handle into her rectum. It goes deeper than my fingers can and the effect is noticeable. She becomes an animal, bucking and moaning and grinding her cunt into just the right spot to allow my mouth the best effect. My fingers are pinching and pulling and twisting and tweaking her hard nipples. I grab the brush and begin to rotate and twist the end. I feel her legs tighten and release, her hips thrust and release, her stomach tightens and releases. After a while she renews her activities with her mouth and hands. She moves down with her mouth and takes my whole 8 inch cock in her mouth. Where did she learn to do that? I start to buck and thrust, fucking her pseudo cunt with great power. The fucking motion of my hips causes the muscles in my ass to constrict around her fingers heightening an already incredible experience. I again concentrate on her orgasm. It almost becomes a contest as to who can take the other over the top first. She is bucking and humping and screaming and growling, her breathing extremely fast and shallow. She is soooo close. My teeth holding her clitoris, my tongue tickling the unhooded knob, my fingers pulling both breasts and my other hand manipulating the handle of the brush to its best effect. With my cock sliding in and out of her throat and my hot breath blowing on her wet snatch, I finally win. Her orgasm is long, loud, and intense. Even after it's over, her sense of urgency does not diminish. Without a word she swings her leg back over my body and stands beside me. She motions for me to rise and as I do she takes my place. She kneels on the chair giving herself to me doggy style. Without hesitating I oblige. I enter slowly at first, teasing her with my shaft. She spoils my fun by arching her hips up and pushing back hard. In one fell swoop I am buried to the hilt. I hear a gasp and one word escapes her lips. "Fuck" It was more of an expression than an order. She begins to rock back and forth humping my dick. She turns her head to mine and buries her tongue deep into my mouth. We taste ourselves on each other and it's magical. This continues as my excitement grows again. She reaches her hands between her own legs and begins to manipulate my testicles with one hand and circle my ass with the other. Pulling a trick from my own bag she grabs the handle of a nearby brush and inserts it in my ass, making small circles with one end that are translated into larger circles at the business end. The newness of being hairless and the idea of someone being inside me contributes to an overwhelming, earth moving, mind blowing, world rocking, biblical proportions, organism. My entire body convulses sending hot cum deep into her wet orifice. It seems to continue forever pumping everything I have, filling her up and giving everything I am. It drains the strength from my whole body. I almost fall as my legs begin to buckle and collapse under my weight. I fall forward unwilling to extradite myself from this... this ... place. I am nothing. Salon Selectives Ch. 02 We both fall to the floor, spent, and utterly useless. It is a long time till either one of us can move. I think it's a good thing the salon is closed tomorrow because it will take a while for the smell of sex and passion to dissipate. I realize I don't even know her name, masters usually being as arrogant as they are. I look at the clock and realize that it's after 2 a.m. My "day of slavery" ended over two hours ago. I guess the jokes' on me. I make a mental note not to be so "easy to please" next time I win a bet with Susan. I can be just as hard a taskmaster as she. I wonder if this 6-foot goddess laying with me now likes to bet. I wonder if she's any good at baking cookies. Who knows where it could go and besides... it won't be long before I'll need another haircut.