The Cutting Chair

Foreword: The inspiration for this story comes from a good friend of mine. J, this is for you...

I love to watch him work through a detached gaze into the mirror. The scissors are but a silver trinket in his beautiful hands. His fingers are strong, yet deft with clean, square nails that are trimmed straight across. I watch him grip my wet hair between his pale, damp fingers, angling his hands carefully before taking a quick snip and letting my hair fall into place. I study his gaze, as he cocks his head to one side and weighs the fruits of his efforts. He pushes his fingers into my hair and presses them to my scalp. He wiggles them there, shaking my hair. He sizes up his handiwork. I size up the tension in his fingers and the sensuality of his grip. He says shorter might be better. I know shorter cut will have me in his chair every other week. At least until, I can get into his bed. I smile and tell him to go for it. He has his assistant blow my hair dry.

*******************************

It's two weeks later and I'm back for my appointment. He says he'll shampoo me himself today, right before he gives me a trim.

I settle into the chair by the basin, closing my eyes. I know I'll be in for a treat. I hear him shuffling around in a cupboard on the other side of the room. I adjust my towel around my neck just as he returns to my side. He stands to my right, so close to me that his belly momentarily brushes my face. I know his cock is just south of that. I reach down, suddenly compelled to scratch an imaginary itch on my calf. I connect with him briefly. He steps out of his professional distance and into my personal space. Just as I begin to wonder if those steps were intentional, I find that he is leaning over me. He smells so fresh, just like shower gel.

I hear the water come on then feel a spreading warmth on my scalp. I hear him open what I believe is a shampoo bottle and then a squidgy noise. His fingers are rubbing it into my hair.

The smell of fuchsia fills the air, chasing his scent away.

His fingers slowly trace tight circles along my hairline, starting at the front, before moving on behind my ears. I feel them slide up onto the crown of my head, making large, sweeping circles and then a slight pull as he squeezes the suds from my hair. It is a sweet eternity before he reaches the back of my head. I feel his fingers massaging the base of my skull, sliding through the soapsuds in a sensuous, velvety motion.

His fingertips slip down the nape of my neck. His cock is pressed up against my arm.

I feel a small tingle in my spine that slowly makes it way to my pussy.

I shift in the chair slightly. His hips follow me.

He cups my head ever so gently with one hand, leaning in closer still. The other methodically chases the dirt from my hair. I can feel the warmth emanating from his body. I can't help but breathe him in. Butterflies run amok in my tummy. His cock is hardening against my arm.

My lips feel dry. I run my tongue over their perimeter and open my eyes.

A button on his blue shirt is about an inch from my nose. I imagine poking my tongue into the gap in his shirt and licking the taut belly I can see inside. His fingers are all over my scalp again, working up what sounds like a rich lather. I hear the suds splattering into the sink. It feels delicious but does not last nearly long enough for me. The water comes back on and he's rinsing my hair, smoothing it back with his big, gentle hands.

He asks if I'm ok.

I tell him I'm getting a little wet.

He gives me a lingering smile and adjusts my towel before leaving to take a phone call. An assistant finishes me up. I see him again in the cutting chair.

The cutting chair.

My favourite place to be.

The perfect vantage point for detached appreciation. I adopt my customary air of indifference the second my ass hits the seat. I don't want him to see that I like him. Well, maybe I do- just a little. I want to fuck this man blind.

He runs a fine-toothed comb through my hair, remarking how quickly it has grown. He suggests a light auburn rinse for our next appointment. He thinks it'll go well with my lovely copper complexion.

He's complementing me. I smile.

I graciously thank him for his suggestion and tell him I wouldn't mind a bit of colour, that it might help to brighten my features a bit. He tells me my face is already radiant, that the rinse would only add more life to my already pretty hair. I lower my lashes, then look up at him with a knowing smile. He is conscious that I know he knows.

He puts the comb on the table and dons a white jacket with a Velcro fastening at the front. He sweeps a black plastic cape over my head and around my neck. I smooth it over my knees as he fastens it at my back.

While he searches his pockets for his misplaced scissors, I take to the opportunity to look him over again. His eyes are so pretty, a perfect shade of blue and they are framed with dark lashes. He's wearing his glasses today. They have black metal frames. I see soft wrinkles at the corners of his eyes. His mouth is a perfect bow. I want to slip my tongue between those soft lips and taste him. I want those lips pressed up against my neck, my breasts and yes, my pussy.

He's found his scissors and he's about to start. I look at his hands in the mirror. His fingers are thick. Thick like his cock, perhaps? I've often wondered if such a correlation could accurately be made. His motions are smooth, repetitive and precise; he combs, he angles, he cuts. I wonder if he makes love in such a deliberate manner...

He's singing now. I don't know the tune, but I love his voice. Rich and deep and with an accent that I can't quite place. He's tall, about six feet, medium build. I wonder how many women that pass through this place pass through his hands. Literally.

He asks me about myself. I give little away, trying to come across as mysterious. I really want him to pursue me. I like the chase. I book an appointment for next week. This time I ask for the last one of the day.

***********************************

I've been looking forward to this all week, constantly fingering my clit to the tune of this highly anticipated encounter. I walk through the door slick with expectation.

When I arrive, he's with a client. I take a seat on one of the plush leatherette sofas, patiently waiting my turn.

The sight of him after so long a spell makes my heart beat just a little faster. I am so wet with anticipation that my panties are saturated. I go to the rest room to remove them. His eyes follow me there and watch me as I close the door behind me. I take them off. They are sodden and ripe with my scent. I carefully fold them until I find a dry portion. I press them to my crotch and attempt to stem the evidence of my desire. It is of no use. It pours out of me. I decide to leave my damp panties on the sink for him. Our eyes meet just as I open the door. I know he sees what I have done. His eyes are fixed on my panties. He excuses himself from his client. I hold the door open for him. He brushes by me as he goes inside.

I return to the sofa to wait.

My eyes are riveted on the restroom door. My pussy is aching, just knowing that his cock is hard on the other side. I wait. My breath is coming a little faster. I know that my dress is soiled from wet. I don't care. My only concern is the door.

A few minutes later, it opens. Our eyes meet, oblivious to the chatter in the shop. He beckons me over. My slippery thighs glide over each other as I make my way to the door. He holds it open for me as I go inside. I say nothing, but brush past him heavily, catching his cologne and savouring what little of his heat I can. I close the door behind me. I find my panties in the sink splattered with his come.

I pick them up. They are slippery and still very warm. I know that his come just left his cock for want of me. It fuels my desire. I raise the fabric to my face and inhale it. I dip my fingers into his come and smear it across my lips. I give in and suck his come right out of my panties, swallowing until it stings the back of my throat. I hungrily look for more, using my index finger to wipe every trace of him from the sink that I can find.

I can't stand it.

I have to bring myself off.

I sit on the bowl and raise my dress over my open thighs. I brush my pubic hair aside and spread my labia wide so that I can press my sticky panties to my hole. I cram a little of the fabric into me, fingering myself for a spell before pulling them out again and holding them to my clit. I rub my clit feverishly with my panties until I come in his semen and my wetness flows to intermingle with his. Breathless and sated, I drop my panties in the bin.

I return to the sofa to wait. Our eyes meet occasionally. This time we do not smile. An assistant calls me over to shampoo me. I return to wait for the cutting chair.

He trims my hair in silence. I openly watch him work. His come is still in my mouth. Still stinging the back of my throat. When he finishes me up, I see him reach into his pocket. He shows me my panties discreetly and then puts them away. It makes me wet again to know he fished them out. We schedule a colouring appointment for Wednesday evening. He says midweek appointments are so much better for technical procedures.

************************************

When I arrive at the salon, he meets me at the door. No one else is there. Without a word he takes me to the cutting chair.

It is in front of the chair that he finally speaks. In a soft firm voice he tells me that he has had the taste of my pussy on his lips since Saturday. That he could not get my wet black panties off his mind since then. He tells me that he has come on them everyday since, just thinking of my sweet pussy that lingers on them still. He says he wants to split my lips apart with his tongue and lick my hole. He says he wants to suck my juice right out of me.

My heart is thundering in my chest for want of him. I unbutton my dress and shrug it off. I came without underwear; I knew what we both wanted long before I arrived. I stand naked before him. I sit in the chair and spread my legs so that my pussy is wide open to receive his tongue. It makes me so wet to know that this time he wants to lick my juice straight off my clit.

He adjusts the chair so that I am at chest level. He bends and spreads my lips with his fingers. He tells me my pussy is so pretty, just as he has imagined it. I look down and watch him push back the hood on my clit. He extends his tongue and licks me there, lifting it with each flicker of his tongue. I moan and grasp his head, the sensation being wonderfully intense. Without warning, he abruptly buries his tongue inside me as far as it will go and wiggles it there. I lose sight of his expression at that point. His face is buried in my crotch. It feels so good that I beg him to take me. He licks my clit a few times then straightens up. He lowers the chair to waist height, drops his pants and then slowly enters me. I gasp from the sheer intensity of his slow, sensuous entry. When his balls press against my vulva, I know that I have taken all of him in. Involuntarily, my body twists in exquisite pleasure, finally feeling the full force of his sensuous embrace. I wrap my legs around him drawing him closer. I tell him to fuck me, fuck me, fuck me.

He pulls off his shirt and holds my legs open with his hands so that he can pound my pussy. I lose my restraint then, crying out with every thrust, desperately trying to draw him in as close as I can. My nails make angry red scratches on his chest and across his shoulders. He does not notice. He only fucks me with his hard cock until I come on it, shuddering up and down its length and crying out until every last spasm subsides.

He gives me just a brief silent moment to recover before he leisurely starts again. He raises the tempo gradually until he makes me come once more. This time, I hold onto him and whimper into his chest. He withdraws his cock and works the head around my hole. I am still twitching in the aftershocks of my orgasm. I now clearly see the angry welts on his chest. I stroke them apologetically. He smirks, and then I do, too. We laugh together.

I tell him I want to taste his cock.

We switch positions. He takes the chair. He settles himself down as I find my knees. Fully satisfied, I take my time to pleasure him. I hold his cock in my hands and study it. The head is reddened, engorged and swollen, oozing precum from its tip. I know that he wants to come. I am impressed by his control. I bring him off slowly. I lasciviously lick every drop of my pussy off his cock until it is so hard it quivers. Teasing the very tip of his cock with my tongue, I dip down into and around his small opening. I suck away all of his juice that is pooling at the tip. He holds my head, guiding my movements. I hold the head of his cock in my mouth and suck him off one lick at a time. So slowly that it makes his come ooze out of him in a tantalizingly slow trickle. He thrashes about in the chair. I struggle to keep up with him.

I bring him down gently, with soft kisses, licking away the traces that escaped my lips. He raises me up and kisses me. He says he needs to see me again.

I make an appointment for Saturday. This time at my place.