Good Hair Nights

By Tayla

Published on Feb 13, 1999

Lesbian

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Good Hair Nights (f/f)

by

Tayla

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction intended for adult entertainment.

My husband, being his usual self, forgot to tell me about a banquet he was obligated to attend tonight. By the time I left the office, it would be too late to select an outfit and accessories and style my hair myself. My secretary placed the call to my beauty shop, then buzzed me.

"Hi, Bev. I know this is such short notice, but could you take me after hours--around 5:30?"

"Sorry Mrs. Smith. We're all leaving at five. But wait, maybe Cleo, our intern will agree to stay and take you." She put me on hold.

I remember Cleo. She is a student at the local beauty college, doing an internship at Beverly's shop. A tall girl, around 22 years old, Cleo is a little 'different', but can do great hair. She always wears these micro-mini skirts that show off her long legs under her open beautician's coat. She has a blond buzz cut and has a different streak of color in her hair every time I see her. Low, sassy talker. Soft-punk. The finishing touch is a small hoop earring in each eyebrow. Beverly must have thought she would add a little color to a shop that catered towards her well-to-do clientele. She did.

Passing time with a magazine, I was waiting for her to arrive. I remember her well. She is one of several regulars that I have not yet had. This is the deal. I do great hair. Okay? Sometimes customers want me to come to their homes to put the finishing touches on their hair before a big event. Having heard through the shop's grapevine that I am bi-sexual, some want a little something else-- a little spice down below. Know what I mean? A little nookie. If I can give a woman an extra glow before she goes to the opera, hell, I am more than happy to oblige. I mean, if a woman is willing to give it up, I take it. A few of them--one lusty little mayor's aid in particular--give some damn good head themselves. But only before I style it, of course. Tips are always very generous. So generous, in fact, that my tuition is paid up for the next year. I pretend that each woman is my "special" customer, that I only do it with her and I swear her to secrecy.

I describe my encounters to my live-in boyfriend when I get home. Johnny gets very excited when I come home with the smell of a woman on my body or the taste of one in my mouth. He enters me, rock-hard, right where I stand.

I knocked on the locked door, out of breath. Cleo let me in. "Hi Cleo. I'm glad you could take me so late. Thanks." I unbuttoned and removed my suit jacket, leaving on just my bra and camisole, and hung it up.

"No problem. I'm glad to help." She was an important, classy lady of about 40 who looked and smelled of the well-to-do. But she always had a big, friendly smile on her lovely face. Her red hair was in a french twist and she wore a little expensive-looking black suit and pumps.

"Please make me look good in a hurry, Cleo." Cleo held a plastic smock for me to slip in to. She came around to fasten the snaps down the front, readying me for the shampoo bowl. When she smoothed it down, her hands lingered on my breasts and further down at my hips. Was her touch deliberate? I got an odd, tingly but not unpleasant feeling from her. To clear my head, I stated to chat.

"Cleo, how long have you been interested in doing hair." I coughed nervously.

Yes! She felt me touching her. Good, firm breasts. I love breasts, too. She didn't object, did she? But then they never do. They want it, just like me. Now she's into small talk to get our minds off what just happened. I'll give her small talk up here for now. Later I'll give her some good tongue down below.

Cleo sensually massaged my scalp as she shampooed my hair. As she worked on me, she began telling me all sorts of things about herself, the shop and its patrons. You know, beauty shop talk.

"I started cutting and styling my friends' hair when I was 16. They all loved my worked and I never charged for it."

"You did my friend's hair before a big party she had at her home. She was thrilled that you actually came to her home to do it. She was positively glowing and her hair was fabulous."

I'll bet she was glowing. She was also insatiable. "Mrs. Smith," I said, breaking my rule, as I rinsed shampoo from her hair, "I've had sex with some of the clientele here. You know, I eat their pussies. I've discovered that women love sex, but they don't want their hair mussed because it. After I've done the hair on their heads, I concentrate strictly on the hair, if any, between their thighs. I'm not shocking you too much, am I?

Cleo rubbed a cool conditioner into my hair. "Well, I am somewhat surprised. My friend carried on and on about your talents. Now I know why."

"Thank you, thank your very much," she clowned, mocking Elvis. "Mrs. Smith, women want other women whether they admit it or not. When you fantasize about one, masturbate thinking about her, it's the same as having her. A woman needs someone who knows where and how to touch her. Who better than someone with an owner's manual? I love fucking women. All that softness, sweetness and juiciness drives me wild. I could eat pussy for hours and still want more. I love to feel a woman's cum slowly building up and having my face in her pussy when it happens."

Listening to her earthy, sexy talk, imagining her sucking Joan's pussy in her own home, I trembled. I was hot and I was past getting wet. Would she offer to do me?

"Mrs. Smith, while you're conditioning, would you like me to give you the pleasure only a woman can give?" She didn't say anything, merely trembled. I took that as a yes.

Her head lay back and in the shampoo bowl. I unsnapped the plastic wrap, pulled her camisole out and up and released the front closure on her lace brassiere. There was no way I could disturb her hair, so I decided to give myself the added treat of her lovely breasts. I wetly licked both of them and sucked roughly on her erect nipples. I heard a low moan of surrender from her. I pushed up her little skirt and brought down her wet panties and hose together. It was time to eat.

God, have I died and gone to heaven? My breasts were throbbing as never before as she manipulated them slowly with her tongue and teeth. Cleo had my panties off in seconds. I could hardly wait for her special touch down there. She moved one of my legs to the arm of the chair and dove in. Up and down, the girl licked my lips over and over. She probed my crevices and protrusions, driving me wild.

In addition to having earrings in her eyebrows, Cleo also has a post earring on her tongue. The feel of the cool/warm/wet metal on my breasts was exquisite, but the feel of it on my clit had me bucking in orgasm in minutes. Cleo was not yet done with me. Her tongue licked away the juices of my cum. Then plunged her tongue inside me. I clasped her inside me. As I held on to her, she continually tried to move it inside me. What a sweet battle we waged. Metal and skin. It was probably my imagination, but being so thoroughly thrown into sexual overdrive, I swear I could feel that cool/warm post on her tongue reaching up and rubbing against my G-spot. I gave in and came again. Again. Another notch on my blow dryer, I thought as I got off me knees. She was quite a good piece. "It was the best, wasn't it Mrs. Smith?" I said as I rinsed out her conditioner.

"Excellent, Cleo, excellent. It was everything." I gave her a big smile. She blow-dried me and produced an upswept masterpiece. I re-assembled my clothing, gathered my things and wrote a check to the shop. From my wallet, I pulled out two twenties and handed them to Cleo for her tip. I left the shop with beautiful hair, glowing from good sex with a woman and anticipating more.

If you do anything worthwhile today, "do it" with a woman.

E-mail comments to layta@excite.com

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