On One Cumdition Ch 01

Chapter 1: Demi

I press my thumbs into the nape of her neck and slide upward to the crown of her scalp, fingers spreading wide. She groans softly. My fingertips claw gently, firm yet tender, cupping just behind her ears. Her eyelids flutter, drifting closed, lips subtly reaching toward me with each deliberate movement of my hands.

Checking the temperature, I let the warm water trickle over my open palm, watching her relax deeper into my care. She's been coming more frequently, I noticed. Before long it will be every week, and then I'll know she's ready.

I pick up the elegant bottle and dispense it carefully onto her hair. One pump. Two. The third spurts unexpectedly across her forehead and over her closed eye. She gasps quietly, palms flexing against the arms of the chair.

"Let me get that".

She chuckles softly as I tenderly scoop the thickest thread with my finger, carefully dabbing the rest away with a warm flannel.

"That's better".

She sinks further into her chair, lulled by the depth of my voice. I massage the slippery mixture into her wet hair, thick and heavy between my fingers. Its texture starts to cling slightly, strands sliding through my hands with a light resistance. I add in another pump, returning the intended glide, the scent feminine and rich, mingling with an elusive, organic warmth.

This is the turning point. Where things become truly subliminal. It can be too much, for some. Something stirs within, and feelings surface in a way they didn't expect. Heart beats a little too fast. The air feels heavy, and breathing becomes more deliberate than perhaps they're comfortable to maintain. They may gently withdraw, but weeks later I'd see them. I'd catch their gaze from across the street, longing for what could have been.

"Would you like me to tidy the ends?" I ask softly, beginning to rinse.

She hums her confirmation, lips pursing slightly. I wheel her from the sink back to the station, wheels subtly squeaking along polished floor. Patting her hair lightly dry, I watch her eyes flutter as she returns slowly from her trance.

"I could do with this more often", she smirks as I start to snip.

A slight residue causes a gentle friction on the scissors, the sound becoming thick and stretched until I wipe it clean again. The key is to promote health while maintaining the length. As short strands fall, the salon fragrance rises, silky and decadent. Her chest rises and falls visibly, breathing deep, the scent of Adam and Eve crawling down her throat. Her eyes alternate between closing in quiet contentment, and staring with a deep intent in the mirror back me.

I blow, watching her hair thicken in the heat and wind, ombre returning as water dissipates, taking its darkness with it. My fingers play through the strands as I direct the dryer back and forth, pawing at the back of her head at times as I draw out more volume. The sound, white noise, consumes. The whir ripples in waves as I flutter the spout back and forth. Time slows and the world seems to disappear, a spotlight remaining on us as we work. I watch the gusts carry her freshly fed thick mane, up from her back, down again, across her shoulders. The sound of heartbeats swells above the dryer's blast. Mine is heavy, strong and steady. Hers hurries on, light. The dryer is barely audible as slow deep breaths join the beating, a shared experience.

I grip her hair together firmly in my left hand, trapped by my index finger and thumb, and pull lightly. She gasps as it tugs on her hairline, the moisture from her breath filling the air, enveloping us as if inside her. I tug again. She groans and her jaw slackens. I lift the hair slowly, the deep brown hiding like a pool beneath the blonde coverage from her ombre. The fingers of my right hand glide up the back of her neck, middle finger guided by the crevice at the nape. The sounds of the outside world are gone in lieu of our own. My fingers span out at the back of her head before they close, gripped. I pull her head back to look at the ceiling before forcing it down, her long tresses now swept over her head and hanging to the floor, ombre reversed.

I take the dryer and fan it up from the tip of her spine over her scalp, sending ripples through her sultry locks. As the heat rises, I purse my lips and blow along the same trajectory, the cool air chasing along the same line. She whimpers in a pleased submission. Her knees press together, legs trembling slightly as her grip tightens on the chair. I release the dryer and take my hands on either side of her bowed head, sliding firmly along the suspended mane. I cup her forehead with my hot palm, it almost burning against her cool skin. I bring her back to me, flipping her hair in one heavy swoop across the vertical plane until slapping her back.

The sound of the street outside erupts abruptly, and the light returns. We're back.

"Oh my God..." she groans, one hand wiping her eyes while the other grips her skirt tight, bunching in a fist between her legs.

I spin her chair, in silence, to face me. Her heavy tresses cascade softly over the backrest, their new lustre catching the light. I hold up a hand mirror for her to inspect the reflection of the main one behind her, but she's not looking at that, she's looking at me.

"How's that?"

She doesn't respond.

I pull away the cloak and walk over to the counter, eyes still adjusting to daylight and the beech wood cabinets illuminated by invasive sun. Dazed, her jaw hangs as her eyes follow me. After a minute she rises, steadying herself as her legs regain their strength. She walks over to the counter and pulls out her purse. Her stare remains on me, bewilderment and catharsis weighing her eyes open as I punch numbers into the till, its beeping filling the silence between us.

"That's £120" I say softly, returning her gaze and meeting it with a smile.

"Y-yes" she stutters, reaching clumsily between the folds of her purse.

She retrieves a wad of notes, laying ten £20s across the counter without a second thought. I take six and leave the rest untouched. Her gaze dips, noticing the mistake. She hesitates, then reaches for them. I place my hand on hers, steady and warm, brushing her knuckles with my thumb.

"How about we get you back in next."

"Yes" she interrupts.

I walk back from behind the counter to the front door, opening it ready. As she leaves, I kiss her cheek and brush her shoulder. She blushes and steps out into the world, her long, luscious ombre mane bouncing heavily with her gait. I'll see her again, for the next phase of her treatment.

I close the door and walk into the back room to adjust myself. I'll have to make another batch. The sound of the bell rings as someone comes through the door.