A Twist at the Salon

A Twirl at the Salon

Everything starts on a breezy afternoon, somewhere at the beginning of June. I'm walking my way to the centre of the town to get a fresh haircut, my long hair flowing behind me at every step. The air is light, filled with the scent of flowers and pines from the river banks below the city. Summer is about to arrive, and the medieval houses, bathed in bright sunlight, throw a cool shade on the cobblestone alleys leading up to the plaza. It's quite the hike through the sometimes steep streets and stairs, but the wind flowing through my light sundress makes me feel like I'm walking on clouds as it refreshingly brushes my thighs and calves. Whenever another alleyway crosses mine, a stronger puff of wind comes from the side, and for an instant I close my eyes and focus on the new scents it brings.

As I come closer to the plaza, the sounds of people talking slowly fill the space around me, the fresh trickle of the fountain echoes down the walls, and the church bell softly rings twice. Just in time for my appointment. I cross the square plaza, strolling past the café tables covered by large sunshades, catching bribes of ordinary conversations and briefly smelling aromas of coffee, chocolate and cocktails carried by the warm breeze. I take a left and start walking the small street at the end of which the open doors of my go-to hair salon await me. The street is a dead end, but only closed by a little stone wall, offering a breathtaking view on the wild, plain green hills and mountains, only occasionally spotted by the light brown roofs of a traditional ardéchois village. The sky is an immaculate blue, and I stop for a second to bathe in the unmatched beauty of this unique landscape, letting my mind wander away at the sound of cicadas singing to the sun. I enjoy the caress of the wind on my face, my neck and arms, sliding under my dress along my stomach and hips, and gently skimming my legs before disappearing into the alleyway behind me.

I open my eyes, gaze one last time into the hills, and turn towards the salon. As I enter it, a chime sparkles its shiny notes into the room, notifying Agathe, my hairdresser, of my arrival. She emerges from the back shop's door and greets me with a smile. As she puts a strand of her straight ash blonde hair behind her ear, I notice she's wearing small ear studs with a pale green pearl, matching her loose knotted crop top perfectly. For a thirty-year-old, she still rocks the crop top - high waist jeans combo like it was made for her. She gestures towards one of the seats for me to sit on and get my hair washed. I nod, and as she goes to the back shop to take a towel for my shoulders, I glance around to notice that I'm the only customer. Not too surprising at this time of day on a weekday, I think to myself as I take place on the comfortable seat she'd pointed to. The open door lets in a bit of the warmth of the afternoon and the distant song of cicadas, but the jalousies on the shop window are set to block most of the direct sunlight, so as to keep the temperature inside pleasant.

Agathe comes back to put the towel on my shoulders, and leans me on the back of the seat, gently taking the base of my head into her hands to position it on the sink. She then proceeds to run the water, asking if the temperature is right for me, to which I nod in approval. My eyes are closed, and as the warm water begins to dampen my hair, I sense my muscles relaxing one after the other. She starts shampooing my hair, and the soft glide of her fingers on my head melts me instantaneously. Like many people, I adore getting head massages, and she knows it; and since I'm her only customer right now, as it's already happened before, she'll likely extend the massage a bit longer for me to enjoy. That's how she is, simple, nice and caring with everyone. Over the few years I've lived here we've sort of become friends, even though we've never seen each other outside her work. None of us is an extrovert, so we often prefer a friendly silence to mundane talk, and that's one reason why we quickly got along so well, the other being we're the same age. After rinsing the shampoo away, she goes on with the massage while drying my hair with a soft towel, patting slowly all over my head, neck, ears and forehead. And as if I weren't already enjoying the care enough, she puts the towel away and continues massaging my head with her fingers, and I slip into pure bliss. Time ceases to exist, and my only reality is the delicate touch of Agathe's silky hands on my hair, my temples, sliding on the edge of my ears and sending warm tingles in my every muscle. My breathing deepens a bit, and I'm so carried away I almost don't hear the distant chime and the door closing. I'm too into the massage to give a damn, and I keep melting away at Agathe's touch, blessing this woman for her patience and skill.

Soon though, I smell a familiar scent, and before I can even think of opening my eyes to confirm my intuition, the voice of my husband whispers into my ear: "Don't move, you look like you're having a great time." An electric wave runs through my body, only exacerbating the sensations from Agathe's head massage, and I find myself unable to move. My drifting mind struggles to form coherent thoughts as to the presence of my husband here and now, and as to why my hairdresser's fingers keep nicely rubbing my head, but all my questions swiftly go away as I feel my husband's warm hand on my left knee. I should freeze, maybe react, but Agathe's relaxing touch has got me in such a state of relaxation that I can't even make a sound. The hand brushes my knee and slowly slides to my calve, and then climbs back on the top of my thigh. The other hand does the same on my right leg and I feel my face blushing. Not only am I unexpectedly enjoying these touches in a rather unconventional setting, I also realise that the inclination of the seat and my relaxed position have made my not-so-long sundress slide up to my hips, offering a nice view of the entirety of my legs to my hairdresser since the start of the shampoo. Slightly exposed, unable to move, and touched in a rather pleasurable way on two parts of my body at once by two persons I know, one of which my husband, is a situation I could never have expected to experience. And the way my mind and body seem to react is seemingly by not stopping that in the slightest. Hearing my breath deepen once more, and my heart beating stronger in my chest, I lose my grip on my thoughts and drift away into the sea of sensations the hands touching me are providing.

It is not long before my husband's hands explore higher up on my thighs and the tips of his fingers start skimming the sensitive skin bordering my underpants. They come and go, tracing loving curves on my thighs, teasing me more and more, until I imperceptibly start to move my hips. His fingers run along the outlines of my underwear, first on the hips and then progressively downwards, and I feel the desire to be touched rise in my lower belly like a warm pulsation. Meanwhile, Agathe keeps expertly rubbing my head, ears and neck, melting any resistance away in me. Judging by her breathing, I could almost swear she's smiling. My husband slips his fingers on the side of my hips, under the elastic band of my knickers, and start ever so slowly sliding them down. A last drop of lucidity in me wants to stop him, but Agathe leans next to my ear and whispers: "Shhh, don't move, you shouldn't fight this...". And she's right: I don't even want to fight, my body is asking for it, and my mind has long given up rational thought. I take a long, deep breath as my husband slides my underwear down my legs, exposing my lower body completely.

My eyes are closed, but I know he's taking a second to appreciate the view, with a satisfied smirk on his face. I know Agathe has an unobstructed view too, and I blush even more. "Don't' worry," she says softly, "you're beautiful. Just relax and enjoy the massage." And she keeps working her magic on my head, as my husband's hands return to my thighs. The relaxing sensations from her soft hands, mixed with the luscious caress of his, make me lose my grip even more, and I slowly inch my hips forward, opening my legs for my husband. He responds by letting his fingertips run softly where my underwear used to be just a minute ago, first caressing the outside of my lips, then, little by little, coming closer to my opening and feeling the wetness that has been building up there. I shiver in pleasure when he traces one finger from the bottom of my pussy to my clit, and Agathe's hands slide more firmly, yet gently, on the sides of my head and down my neck, then back up. My husband repeats his motion with measured slowness, sending wavelets of electric pleasure through my body, and my breathing gets heavier, my mouth opening slightly to let more air fill my lungs. Then, I feel his warm breath nearing the space between my legs. My desire to be touched becomes a desire to be eaten out passionately, as I wait impatiently for his lips to bless mine. Meanwhile, Agathe's hands have started massaging my shoulders and running on the sides of my arms, adding to both the numbness of my muscles and to my general arousal, as her hair brushes my cheek and the top of my chest every time she leans forward.

My whole body is melting away at the multiple touches it is getting at once, but when the warm mouth of my husband makes contact with my lower parts, I am sent straight to heaven. After a couple kisses down there, I feel his tongue adding to my wetness and almost licking my consciousness away, expertly playing with my soft spots in a rhythm he knows so well. My body being completely relaxed makes every lick resonate with pure pleasure through every one of my muscles, making me squirm and move my hips slightly. I feel Agathe's cheek against mine, and in a soft yet mischievous voice, she purrs: "You're so cute, let yourself go... moan for him...", and as I hear that, I can't help but let out a moan of pleasure, adding to my own arousal. Soon, I let out another, and another, and she whispers: "Good girl" before kissing my cheek. I'm completely losing control now, my husband's arms around my thighs and his mouth between my legs making wonders, Agathe's hands now caressing my cheeks, jaw, neck, arms and the top of my chest, occasionally putting a soft kiss on my cheek, encouraging me to let go even more.

I feel the tension building between my legs, a sweet calling towards infinite pleasure, and I moan louder. That's when, at the same time, I feel my husband's fingers enter me, and Agathe's delicate hands slide under my dress and cup my breasts. This is almost too much to handle, and I gasp as his fingers start coming and going at a steady pace inside of me, while she playfully fondles my breasts and brushes my nipples with her fingertips. Her face is pressed against my cheek, and as I instinctively turn to hide my face in her neck, she turns her head and plants a kiss on my lips. Another wave of pleasure washes over me, and as I feel the orgasm building faster and faster, I lose myself into her lips and allow her to kiss me as she pleases. I barely have the time to appreciate how incredibly soft her lips are, that the orgasm suddenly calls my whole body and I start to quiver, whimpering as the pleasure overwhelms me. My hands grab the head of my husband and hold him between my thighs, as my kiss with Agathe deepens, her hands still caressing my chest and shoulders. Time feels like it stretches even more, and after a long moment of sensual bliss, the tension starts to finally wear down, allowing me to control my breathing again. I stay in the seat for a moment, eyes closed, coming back to my senses, feeling my husband hugging my hips and Agathe petting my hair. After a while, I open my eyes and glance at them both, seeing their smug grins as they're watching me.

"What the- ", I open my mouth, but Agathe puts a finger over it. "Shh, don't talk. You'll thank me later," and she winks at me with a cheeky smile. My husband helps me up and then towards the door, high fiving Agathe on the way. I'm too focused on walking straight to say anything. As we get out, he waves her goodbye and I mechanically do the same. The warm breeze and the song of cicadas help me freshen up as we start walking towards the plaza. A gust of wind suddenly lifts my sundress and makes me realise I've forgotten to put my underwear back on. I turn to my husband, ready to ask him if he's seen it, but his raised eyebrow and smug face tell me all I need to know. "Oh well, looks like we're going to enjoy the way home," he says with a laugh, and starts walking, fast enough that I can't stop him before we reach the plaza. I'm not even mad, but he's going to pay me back sooner or later.